
.>•.'>. V 



0DD205baaTA 



^s^ 







^J^' 



t 




A 



y^ 



LIBRARY OF COXGRESS. 



/ 






•j ,ii -Si ^ 'j _•> _sS-ti. ji *♦' 

B 
h 



2 IIXITED STATES OF AMERICA, g 

si>?6.cfct»-v, ♦%.%• 'i* 'i? '•'■ 'it -? Tif i, •»?• r;y ,;f ti? .,;♦ .f vr ♦-•• ♦* it r.,* '^r ♦it ♦iM 



^^ 



COSAS DE ESPANA 



OR 



OOINQ TO MADKID 



VTA 



BARCELONA 



" Va corre priesa, Sefior." 

SpanlVh Saying 








RED FIELD 

110 AND 112 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 

1855. 



vn 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, 

By J. S. REDFIELD, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for 
the Southern District of New York. 



STEREOTYPED UY C. C. SAVAGE. 
13 Cliambers Street, N. Y. 



PREFACE. 



When the learned curate of a certain village 
in the Spanisli province of La Mancha, Master 
Nicholas, the barber, and Don Quixote's house- 
keeper assembled together in the Don's library 
to purify it of the perilous stuff which had turned 
the head of its owner, the holy man remarked 
concerning a book of Poems he withheld from 
the flames that, it tvoiild have been still better^ 
had there been less of it ; and even went so far 
as to add the general observation that, never was 
a good book a big one. 

Considering the maxims uttered by the curate, 
no less than those of the Don and Sancho 
Panza, to be still true, respecting all matters 
having any relation to Spain at least, the au- 



4 PREFACE. 

thor of the following brief narrative of personal 
adventure and observation does not presume to 
offer to the public any larger volume than can 
conveniently be held in the hand. Indeed, the 
great majority of readers, nowadays, would seem 
to be of the same mind as the reverend critic. 
The traveller by " rail" has no room in his pock- 
ets for quartos and folios; the visiter at the 
bathing-places wants a volume which he can get 
through in a single day, as he intends to be off on 
the morrow ; the idler, escaping from summer 
heats to the shade of the wide-spreading beech- 
tree, can not think of undergoing the fatigue 
of holding up two or three pounds weight by the 
hour together ; the tired man, who at the close 
of the day's labors sits down by the fireside, 
wishes to do his reading, leaning comfortably 
back in his arm-chair; and all fair readers — 
may their number never be less — know how un- 
graceful it is to sit bent over pages too heavy to 
be lifted from the table. Here, accordingly, is 
a book of travels which, so far as size goes, might 
have satisfied the Spanish curate, and will not be 



PREFACE. O 

deemed too big, it is hoped, by any of the before- 
named classes of readers, to fill up a few of whose 
idle hours, more especially, it has l)een written. 

Nor, whatever may be its demerits, will it be 
found any heavier from learning than it is from 
bulk. For all weighty and cumbrous facts, the 
reader is referred to the guide-books, and the 
gazetteers. The author has treated only of such 
pleasing Spanish matters as might naturally en- 
ter into the experience, and fall under the obser- 
vation of a loiterer ; and has generally avoided 
anything having the appearance of learned lore, 
or statistical knowledge, as carefully as would 
have done Imaum Ali Zade himself, who, to an 
inquisitive traveller's inquiry respecting the his- 
tory and trade of the city in which he bore rule, 
replied, " Although I have passed all my days 
in this place, I have neither counted the houses, 
nor have I inquired into the number of the inhab- 
itants ; and as to what one person loads on his 
mules, and the other stows away in the bottom 
of his ship, that is no business of mine. But 
above all, respecting the previous history of this 



6 PREFACE. 

city, God only knows the amoiuit of dirt and con- 
fusion the infidels may have eaten before the 
coming of the sword of Islam ! It were unprofit- 
able for us to inquire into it." 

POSTSCRIPT 

Had the preceding Preface been written, as it 
should have been, after, instead of before, the 
composition of the work it introduces, it would 
have stated that a portion of the following pages 
is reprinted from Putnam's Monthly Magazine, 
where they appeared under the title of " Cosas 
de Espana" ; and it would also have requested 
all fair readers to pass lightly over the chapters 
on Pig-Killing, Bull-Baiting, and Cock-Fighting. 



CONTENTS. 



I. — "Winr I WEXT VIA Barcelona page 9 

II. — Napoleon's Colt» d'Etat in my Teapot at Lyons. 27 

III. — Excursion in a Berline Parisienne 36 

IV. — Going up a Mountain 64 

Y. — Going do^^yn the Rhone 67 

VI. — Ho\Y to kill a Day at Marseilles 83 

VII. — Taking Nice in the Way 88 

VIII.— To Sea in a Spanish Ship 113 

IX. — Three Days of Quarantine 126 

X. — The Landing 130 

XI. — My Rooms at the Fonda 138 

XIL— My Balcony 146 

XIIL— My Table ,. 161 

XrV. — The Rambla and the Mukalla de Tierra 165 

XV. — The Mltialla del Mar and Love-Making 177 



8 C0NTJ3NTS. 

XVI.- — Baecelonese Fishermen page 189 

XVTI. HOLYDAYS AT BARCELONA 204 

XYIII— The Annual Fair 209 

XIX.— The Pig-Killing 216 

XX. — The Carnival 232 

XXL— A Mock Bull-Fight 288 

XXII.— Olla Podrida 251 

XXTII. — Adieu, Barcelona! , 261 

XXIV.— To Valencia 262 

XXV. — Spanish Breakers 269 

XXVI. — The Huerta and the Alameda 21*7 

XXVII. — CocK-FiGHTiNG AND Pigeon-Shooting .... 286 

XXVIII. — Penitentiaries and Courts of Law. 292 

XXIX. — Painters, Priests, and Beggars 299 

XXX, — The Lake of Albufera 306 

XXXI. — A Cluniate for Invalids 319 

XXXII. — Opening of a Railway 326 

XXXIIL—From Valencia to Madrid 332 



COSAS DE ESPANA. 



WHY I WENT VIA BARCELONA. 

" But why not go to Madrid by the usual 
route, via Bayonne ?" 

I anticipate your question, gentle reader ; and 
foresee distinctly that you could never be in- 
duced to peruse a single one of these sketches 
w^ithout having been previously informed why 
the author — be ho who he may ^ made his en- 
try into Spain by the way of Barcelona. Now 
this is the most perplexing question I shall liave 
to answer in the whole course of my story ; and 
most gladly would I give the profits of the first 

two or three editions of this volume, to be re- 

1* 



10 COSAS DE ESPA^JA. 

licved from the necessity of replying to it. Still, 
if you will please sit a little further up on this 
mat of grass, where the spray which is tossed up 
over the cliff will be less liable to reach us, I 
will see what can be said to satisfy your very 
natural and laudable curiosity. 

To begin then, like a German author, at a con- 
venient distance from the subject in hand, let me 
premise that at Paris, as well as elsewhere, the 
dogma has lately been set np that disease is a 
process of cure. The doctors tell you that your 
malady is only an effort of nature to restore a 
lost equilibrium — to expel from the system an 
intruding poison — to relieve it of a burdensome 
superfluity. Their skill, accordingly, is mainly 
diagnostical. It is directed, in the first instance, 
to ascertaining by the most careful and minute 
examination of the patient's symptoms precisely 
where and what the disease is; — to finding, if 
not to bearding it in its den. Herein lies the 
superiority of the medical gentlemen of Paris, 
who, if they can not cure a patient, wiil at least 
be able to tell him what is the matter with him. 



PARISIAN DOCTORS. 11 

And it having been ascertained exactly what the 
difiBculty is, and what it is not, the most that 
remains. to be done is closely to watch the action 
of nature ; — to modify, not to thwart it ; — and to 
aid the struggle of the system to relieve itself, by 
the administration of Tvhat are rather palliatives 
than remedies. I speak, of course, of the physi- 
cian's, not the surgeon's art. 

Your disease, therefore, particularly if it be 
something of a pet, is to be treated very gently 
and gingerly. Your inner man is not to be 
damaged by the old doses which, in curing, half- 
killed you. You may be kept, indeed, sotne 
little time in the doctor's hands ; but when you 
do get out of them, you are to be warranted as 
good as new. Instead of being relieved of his 
blood, the patient, it may be, is ordered simply to 
drink cold water ; instead of being sharply set upon 
by the apothecary, with large magazines of pill- 
boxes, he is now regaled at the hands of a peace- 
able and perhaps pretty nurse, with sugar-plums. 
Where formerly he was condemned to the black 
draught, as the culprit to the hemlock, in these 



12 COSAS DE ESPA??A. 

more humane days he is fed on sirups ; and re- 
lieved of all difficulty in swallowing his potions, 
his only trouble consists in preventing their being 
stolen and devoured by the small children of the 
family. 

With some such views of medical remedies as 
these, it is natural that the Parisian faculty should 
hold in high esteem the various kinds of natural 
mineral waters. They are, in fact, the fashion 
of the day ; — that is to say, of the summer day. 
For, in the colder months, you would probably 
find your physician ready enough to treat your 
disorder with all the aids and appliances of the 
whole pharmacopoeia, if need were. Perhaps, 
by way of occupying your attention, and adding 
at the same time to his own stock of experience, 
he would not be disinclined to try a few experi- 
ments upon you. And if nothing better could be 
done, in a case not too acute, he might do his 
best to keep you on your legs until the arrival of 
the bathing season, by the administration of bread 
pills and Selzer water. But on the first day of 
June he will not fail to pack you off for the 



THE PYRENEES. 1 •) 

Pyrenees. Observe that on no account will he 
send you to the Spas of Germany. You can not 
bathe in the waters of Syria or Damascus, but 
must be healed in the Jordans of France. You 
must go either to the plains of Vichy, or to the 
mountains of the South ; in both of which charm- 
ing regions, Parisian fashion has reared its gilded 
saloons, and French beauty has dressed her 
bowers of love. 

Accordingly, it so happened one fine June 
morning, that I found myself, duly equipped 
with medical ordonnance^ on tlie road for the 
Pyrenees ; and after a week's journey, I arrived 
in a tolerably undamaged condition at the baths 

of C . A long time afterward I had the 

satisfaction of learning that my medical adviser 
was one of the proprietors of this bathing estab- 
lishment, and that its selection in preference to 
others, was a small specimen of that kind of ex- 
ploitation sometimes laid to the charge of the 
Parisian celebrities in medicine. However, I 

remember C none the less pleasantly for 

that trick of the trade. I liked it well enough 



14 COSAS DB ESP AN A. 

to remain there not only during my prescribed 
saison of a fortnight ; but to linger through an- 
another fortnight — a month — the whole sum- 
mer — and far into autumn. 

I love the bath like a Turk ; and I love it hot ! 
None of your icy ablutions for me — after which 
the shivering victim has to rub his extremities, 
as in a rage, to entice the frighted blood back 
from his threatened vitals ; and finds, when at 
the end of a tolerably long purgatory he has suc- 
ceeded, that the returning currents ooze out at 
the hundred pores laid open by the murderous 
horse-hair, or hemp woven from the cast off ropes 
of the hangman. Not for me, the awful avalan- 
ches, whose descent one awaits with terror, trem- 
bling lest the narrow closet in which he is 
imprisoned prove his coffin ; and beneath which, 
when they fall upon his unprotected, half-crazed 
head, he cowers and cringes and kicks, until, 
brought nigh to suffocation, he makes one des- 
perate bound into the middle of his chamber — 
dripping, panting, shaking in the knees, and blue 
in every extremity. 



THE PYRENEAN BATH. 15 

Let me rather lie down in thermal waters 
gushing warm from the rock. The softly-flowing 
currents gently titulate the surface of the body, 
stretched at ease ; the pores of the skin, well 
pleased with the new sensation, freely open their 
mouths to drink in the healing fluid ; and the 
soul itself, reached in its inmost seat, finally sur- 
renders itself up to the delicious influence, and, 
like unto that of the eater of opium or the gums 
of Araby, is lapped in dreams Elysian. 

Thus did I spend my summer-days, lying in 
waters soft as woman's tears, and — with all due 
deference to better authority be it said — of just 
about the same temperature. For though it is 
sometimes asserted that such tears are scalding^ 
I must be allowed to say that this has not exact- 
ly been my experience, and is not therefore writ- 
ten in the articles of my faith. But be the case 
as it may, it is absolutely certain that I lay glo- 
riously steeped in dreams and thermal water from 
June to October. My memory, when, in recal- 
ling the past, it reaches these months of soft de- 
lights, stops, and refuses to go back farther. 



16 cos AS DE ESP AN A. 

The lotus I ate from the branches which over- 
hung these pools of healmg, has made the Pyre- 
nees to me a barrier and a shore, against which 
breaks the sea of a semi-oblivion beyond. But 
by way of compensation, the recollection of this 
summer in the mountains ever keeps a nook in 
my heart as green and sunny as one of their own 
vales. 

Whoever then is tired of the paradise of Paris 
would do well to look for another in the Pyre- 
nees. Even in winter one may go to Pau ; and, 
during four or ilve of the warmer months, let his 
path lead him to what bath it may, it will be only 
his own fault if he be not the happiest of mortals. 
Paris empties its saloons to furnish the society 
of these watering-places. And if, when seen in 
the blaze of gas and the flashing of brilliants, the 
accomplished Parisienne dazzled, here enneglige^ 
in the simple robe which sets off more than it 
conceals the graces of her person, she attracts 
and charms you. Let not this seem an exagger- 
ation ; for of all female prodigies the Parisian 
belle is the most extraordinary. She is as un- 



THE nVLLE OF PARIS. 17 

equallod in capacities as in graces. Her salon 
has often proved a third chamber in the govern- 
ment. It is a court no less of literature and the 
arts, than of love. In beauty of toilette, tliat 
rarest of female accomplishments, or in elegance 
of conversation, that highest grace of civilized 
society, she has no rival. In the lower grades 
of life, the Parisienne is the most clever of sales- 
women and accountants. She invents the fash- 
ions in dress for the world ; and in the use of her 
needle is more skilful than Andromache or the 
queen of Sheba. Nor is this the half of her 
worth : for in spite of the temptations which lie 
like flowers along her path of life, she is, in the 
great majority of instances, a true woman in all 
her sentiments — the scandal-mongers to the con- 
trary notwithstanding. Seen in the country, she 
may not always carry away the palm from the 
very best bred of Englishwomen, much as she ex- 
cels them in the metropolis. Still, with her good 
sense and her good toilette — 'tis about all it 
takes to make a lady — she adapts herself so per- 
fectly to rustic scenes, and establishes such har- 



18 cos AS DE ESPANA. 

mony of attire and conduct with the life of sur- 
rounding nature, that her, who at Paris was the 
grace of ball and opera, you also worship in the 
Pyrenees as the goddess of woods and streams. 
Not but what there is a plenty of stately dowagers 
to be met with at the baths, who are stiffer than the 
ledges of limestone ; and more than a sufficiency 
of laughing Lorettes, too gay by half for the 
gravity of mountain scenery. Young unmarried 
ladies, too, are of no account here, as a matter 
of course. They are of none in any French so- 
ciety. Mere wall-flowers, they are coldly admir- 
ed at a distance not much less than the snow-clad 
summits ; and are never approached except 
through the medium of their more accessible 
mammas. 

Nor is the life of the provinces left unrepre- 
sented dans les bains. The chateaux of the 
neighboring departments send whole families to 
spend the dog-days under the shadow of the 
mountains. But the provincial dame bears about 
the same relation of inferiority to the Parisian, as 
the secondary towns of France do to the metropolis. 



THE BELLE OF THE PROVINCES. 19 

She is a more or less unsuccessful imitation of a 
perfection of accomplishment, a grace of manners, 
an elegance of conversation, and a taste in adorn- 
ment, which are native to the seat of the world's 
fashion ; and which, with rare exceptions, can 
neither be born nor bred in provincial stations. 
Do what she will, she can not lift her skirts over 
a mountain torrent as the lady of the Fau- 
bourg St. Germain does over the town gutters. 
And this is one test of gentility. Whether the 
fault lies in her shoes not being so well fitted, or 
her ankles so well turned, or where it lies, I never 
could discover ; but the fact is, one would sooner 
be tempted to kneel down in the mud of the 
Boulevards to arrange a lady's shoe-string, than 
on the greenest grass of Normandy or Provence. 
There is a certain air of inferior breeding in a 
Frenchwoman who has not lived in Paris, scarce- 
ly to be counterbalanced by the possession of 
beauty even. In her own chateau, she appears 
well enough, and fitting the place : but out of it, 
she loses the fine balance of the graces. She is 
no cosmopolitan. Her more cultivated rival, on 



20 COSAS DE ESPA^A. 

the contrary, never appears to be out of her nat- 
ural sphere, place her where you will. The 
world over, she is at home. Be her seat a silken 
sofa, or a grassy bank, a chair in the gardens of 
the Tuilleries, or a rock in the mountains, she 
makes it at once a throne ; a throne whence with 
gentle sceptre she rules the empire of all gallant 
men's hearts. 

As to French •children, they are unendurable 
in the Pyrenees, or out of them. One must go 
to England to see children. In France, in fact, 
there are none — nothing but little ladies and 
gentlemen. The fine play of childish nature has, 
in the great majority of cases, been sacrificed in 
their training to the proprieties of good behavior, 
so called. They have been thoroughly drilled in 
bowing and scraping, however it may stand with 
their needle-work and their Latin. Dressed in 
the last month's fashion, with chapeau and a stick, 
with flounces and a fan, they promenade with the 
measured pace, salute with the polite formalities, 
and sit in the starched state, which might lead 
one to mistake them for Lilliputians. In France, 



FIJENCH GENTS. 21 

freedom of manners is greater in age, than in 
childhood. The girl's liberty commences with 
her marriage ; and the l^oy's dates from the day 
when he leaves college. Thus excess of license 
often 'grows out of the application of too much 
law. 

French gentlemen, too, are generally a nui- 
sance at the w^atering-places. The wits of the 
town, who illumine the Parisian night with bons 
mots and repartees, are entertaining enough in 
the salon; on the road, likewise. Frenchmen are 
invariably the most amusing and agreeable of 
travelling companions ; but, in tlie country, these 
same persons furnish as good specimens of the 
hore^ pure and simple, as can anywhere be met 
with. They seem entirely out of their element, 
having no eye for beauty of scenery, or ta.^io for 
rural pleasures ; not knowing how to subdue them- 
selves to sentiment ; and making a very poor fist 
at writing verses. Equally misplaced are the 
politicians, who, congregating by themselves un- 
der every shade, spend their mornings in rabid 
discourse about the govenunont and tlie state of 



22 COSAS DE ESPA^A. 

the country — or did so in the days of the repub- 
lic. Nor less incongruous in these rustic scenes 
are the laced and spurred officers of the army, 
who come here to bathe their scars of service ; 
and to bedew their epaulettes, if they can, with 
drops more precious than those that trickle from 
the rocks. You wish them all, officers, politi- 
cians, and wits, well out of the mountains. They 
may understand perfectly the philosophy of the 
life Parisian ; but they know not what to do with 
themselves on hill and brook sides. They lack 
sentiment. 

But unless the person who goes to the Pyrenees 
devotes his summer mainly to romancing, he does 
not put the mountains to their natural uses, nor 
drink the mineral waters to best advantage. For 
the three months of his life spent in these delec- 
table regions, he should surrender up his heart 
to all sweet natural influences — following where 
wayward impulse leads — fancy-free. His dayiS 
will be ushered in with a natural music more fitting 
the scene than that of art. Innumerable night- 
ingales, rejoicing in the return of the golden dawn, 



NIGHTINGALES. '16 

will call him from 'bis slumbers betimes to join 
their cheerful Jubilate Deo. In tlie mountains, 
every sound, indeed, is musical. The ])arking 
of the dog that tends the fold ; the carolling of 
the peasant-boy who drives his goats to pasture ; 
the call and answer of tlie vine-dressers on the 
hillsides ; the laugh of boys and maids who rake 
the fragrant hay of the valleys — all these sounds 
as they ring in the clear air, and are echoed back 
fram the mountain-sides, fill the ear with deli- 
cious melody. Not less pleasing is the murmur- 
ing of the headlong torrents and meandering 
brooks, along whose grassy banks you take your 
morning walk, or beside which you pass the 
noontide, reposing in the shade of over-arching 
branches. Here, heedless of the fleeting hours, 
you turn the pages of some summer book ; you 
meditate a pleasing theme ; you join in cheerful 
converse ; perchance, you heave _ the first soft 
sigh of love. 

Ah, me ! The walks that I remember up the 
rugged, winding paths into the lively air of the 
upper summits. How easy the toil — how gay 



24 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

the march. Staff and donkey aid your footsteps. 
Yon flourish the one ; you jest with the other. 
The laugh of your companions and the braying 
of your beasts vie in waking the echoes. Your 
mirth makes even the gray mountain merry. 
While the champagne is cooling in some deep 
cave of ice, or the melted snow of the torrent, 
and while skilful hands are preparing the much- 
needed repast, you climb to the very foretop of 
the mountain. You seek the bold cliff's edge ; 
and thence look down upon valleys reduced by 
the distance to mere ribands — upon streams 
which are but silver threads. Farther off, lie 
the level plains, carpeted with the green of the 
vineyards, the silver gray of the olive-orchards, 
and the gold of the wheat-fields. On one side, 
stretches away an infinitude of round hilltops and 
high peaks and ranges, whose distant snows are 
blended with the clouds. On another, you look 
down upon many a league of the dear land of 
dolce far niente ; you see far off the Mediterra- 
nean, a mere line of glittering sunlight ; and Bar- 



/ 

MOUNTAIN PIC-NICS. 25 

celona, with its Catalonian towers, no more than 
a speck on the shore. 

Returning, how pleasant to see the sun go 
down behind the snow-clad summits. The gray 
twilight creeps slowly up the valleys, while day 
still reigns jubilant, ^vitli all its array of purple 
clouds and rosy snows, on the iiVDuntain tops. 
Slow and pensive, you descend the winding way, 
which, a few hours before, you mounted with 
boisterous mirth. Your thoughts wander to the 
hearthstone where, beyond the waves of ocean, 
sits the circle of those who are dearest to you on 
earth. You loiter along until the stars of even- 
ing shine out upon your pathway, or the mountain 
moon lights up the blue heavens and the pallid 
snow-summits. Stopping to listen in the stilly 
night, you hear the raving torrent, or the crash 
of the falling avalanche — or, it may be, only the 
beating of the Catalonian heart so fondly pressed 
against your own ! 

Now — to cut short my argument — though 
there be several routes from Paris to Madrid, I 

2 



26 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

ask whether whoever should get a glimpse of 
Barcelona from the tops of the Pyrenees in any 
such favorable circumstances as I did, would not 
be sure to go to Spain that way ? Would he 
not be a blockhead to take a different route ? 

There can not be a doubt of it. He would be 
perfectly woo,^en-headed I 



II. 

napoleon's coup d'etat in my teapot at LYONS. 

I LEFT Paris on my way to Spain the evening 
before Louis Napoleon's coup (Tetat. At that 
time I had no suspicion of the spectacle which 
was to be brought out on the morrow, for not a 
mouse was stirring in the whole city. The re- 
public lasted me until I got comfortably to bed 
at Lyons. But there, in the course of the night, 
my slumbers were more or less disturbed by the 
clatter of cavalry and the tramp of armed men 
under my windows. However, I gave but little 
heed to what was going on in the street, and 
kept on dreaming of Barcelona until morning. 
Then, as I went down to the breakfast room, a 
waiter, who was occupied in arranging the table, 
came to me with eyes bigger than his tea-cups. 



28 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

" Revolution in Paris, Monsieur ! The Presi- 
dent has turned out the A'ssembly ! Half of them 
are imprisoned ; half are banished the country ; 
and the rest, on dit, are going to be hung !" 

The dire consequences of this news flashed 
across my mind in half an instant. I saw at once 
that it was all over with that day's omelette ! 
The waiter's eyes were dilating fast to the size 
of saucers ; and his face was already w^hiter than 
his apron. How could a fellow in such a state 
of nervous excitement get up an omelette ? Im- 
possible. Of course, the cook was in a no less 
fine frenzy below stairs. The kitchen was a red 
republic ; and the very bottle-washers were in a 
blaze. What was to be done ? If I sent the 
waiter to order my breakfast in the state of ex- 
citement in which he then was, he would forget 
my commands before reaching the bottom of the 
stairs. Or if he remembered them, he and the cook 
would hold a high political debate over my ome- 
lette, which, meanwhile, would be baked as hard 
as bricks. To suppose that such a work of culi- 
nary art could be done to a turn, while one of 



LOSS OF AN OMELETTE. 29 

tlie professors was narrating to the other how the 
gens d'armes had routed M. Theirs out of bed at 
four o'clock in the morning, and the latter was 
in turn, telling the former what M. Thiers said 
to the gens d'armes during the time occupied in 
putting on his breeches, was plainly absurd. All 
this and a great deal more ruslied through my 
mind the moment the waiter uttered the word 
revolution ; and before he had reached the end 
of his story, I had fully determined that tlie 
only course for me to pursue, in such an emer- 
gency, was to condescend to a compromise. I 
had resolved to order my eggs boiled ! 

Accordingly, the moment my narrator came to 
a full stop, I very deliberately replied — 

'' If such be the state of aflairs at Paris, I'll 
have my eggs served d hi coqve I See that they 
are done to a second ! Take care that they be 
of this morning ! 

Upon the word, the fellow's face fell from 
seven heavens ; and he was straightway restored 
to his right mind. The abruptness of my order 
had produced its intended efiect of cutting the 



80 COSAS DE,*:SPANA. 

politician down to a gar con. Ei chard, the serving 
man, was himself again ; and as he left the room, 
I saw by his altered countenance that my break- 
fast had been made sure. His reappearance in 
,the kitchen would put an entirely new aspect 
upon it, I felt confident ; and would go far tow- 
ard bringing to an end the row of the pots and 
kettles. Nor was my confidence misplaced. In 
some five minutes afterward my breakfast was 
before me ; and, upon my word, I could not see 
but what my eggs were every whit as good as 
they had been under the republic. 

The root of the matter, said I to myself, laying 
down my newspaper after breakfast, is here. 
The French have attained to the idea of political 
equality ; but they have no true understanding 
of civil liberty. In the name of the former, they 
have twice proclaimed the republic ; but in both 
instances they have refused to organize by law 
the great principles of the latter. The popular 
fancy has been hit by the cabalistic words, Re- 
publiqe Francaise. Men have thrown up their 
caps at them from Paris to the two seas. There- 



LOSS OP THE REPUBLIC. 31 

upon, the new politicians have said the republic 
was well founded, and would last for ever. But 
did they give to the ncwly-crcated citizen tlie 
rights and privileges of self-government ? Did 
these gentlemen proceed to make the peasant any 
more free than he was before ? Did the Assem- 
bly at Paris increase the powers of the assemblies 
in the provinces ? Did it confer upon the towns 
the right of regulating their own local affairs ? 
No. France retained substantially the same sys- 
tem of despotic centralization under the republic 
which, during a long succession of ages, had 
grown up under the monarchy. The name was 
changed, the thing remained. The name of re- 
public was, in fact, a misnomer, and an incon- 
gruity ; and could endure but for a moment. The 
French system of government has always been 
one of concentrated powers ; but republicanism 
is local freedom. The prevailing political idea 
in France has been the supremacy of the state ; 
in America, it is the supremacy of tlie people. 
There, sovereignty with all its rights and powers 
is enthroned in Paris : here, it sits a household 



32 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

god by the fireside of ten millions of citizens. 
The European republic retained all the governing 
power which had not previously been given to 
the people ; while the American republic possesses 
only so much as has been conferred upon it by 
the people. The two systems of organization are 
heaven-wide, and never deserved to have been 
called by the same names. The one is a civil 
constitution under which the government does 
everything for its subjects ; the other, under 
which the citizens do everything for themselves. 
The one is a structure suited for war and a mar- 
tial nation ; the other is the principle and the 
fruit of peace. 

When I had run the root of this matter thus 
far into the ground, I stopped short. But these 
views of the flimsiness of French republicanism 
were well illustrated by some observations I had 
an opportunity next day of making on the Rhone. 
After having gone on board the steamer, finding 
but little sentiment in the air, which, like the 
politics of the country was lowering, I determin- 
ed to amuse myself by listening to the political 



EFFECT OF THE NEWS. 83 

rumors which came down the wind from Paris. 
The steamer's canvass appeared to be well filled 
with them ; all the passengers being more or less 
politically "lifted." On the forward deck I 
found one of them mounted on a wine cask, 
reading in loud and hurried tones, for the benefit 
of all concerned, the official account of the coup 
d'etat, just received from Paris. Knowing al- 
ready myself the contents of the gazette, my at- 
tention was directed to the effects of this news 
on the crowd of listeners. They were all ears. 
Had they been so many donkeys, these members 
of the body could not have been much longer. 
Every one was pricked up to the highest top of 
attention. Yet, as the reading proceeded, I 
observed several which gradually fell and hung 
down ; while one or two were suddenly sent vrhisk- 
ing round as though they had got fleas in them. 

But their curiosity once gratified respecting 
the details of the news, I was struck at noticing 
how shallow the excitement was which the an 
nouncement of the change of government pro- 
duced on the minds of all. On the one hand, 

w9* 



34 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

there was no over-boiling indignation expressed 
at the overthrow of the republic ; on the other, 
there was no apparent rejoicing at the triumph 
of Napoleon. The political changes were, in- 
deed, the principal topic of conversation at the 
breakfast table ; but, by the hour of dinner, the 
morning's news had apparently become as stale 
as one of its left-over dishes. A republic had 
been overthrown ; an event which, had it occurred 
in America, would have mdcle men's faces turn 
black vfith horror, or pale with rage. But, here, 
the account of it was listened to as merely the 
morning's news, no more. During the whole 
day, the strongest expression of feeling I heard 
uttered respecting the author of the revolution, 
was by a gentleman who passed me, twirling his 
moustache, and muttering to himself, half in jest 
and half in earnest, " Ah, le coquin !" 

A still more striking illustration, perhaps, of 
the little worth of French political sentiment fell 
under my notice a few months later at Paris. It 
was the evening of the great Napoleonic fete of 
the fifteenth of August ; and in endeavorinp: to 



POLITICS OF FIREWORKS. 35 

reach a favorable position in the Place do In 
Concorde for witnessing the fireworks, I got ac- 
cidentally jammed into a crowd of the honrg-eoisie. 
A young mechanic's wife stood pressed against 
my side ; and behind her was her husband. 
Finding escape impossible, I consoled myself for 
the loss of a more favorable position by the 
sprightly conversation of those around me. The" 
wit was that of the French middling class, ready, 
good-natured, and to the point. But the only 
remark which I carried away, and which I now 
refer to, was made by my lively voisine. After 
the throwing up of the most magnificent bouquet 
of rockets I had ever seen, filling the whole 
heavens with gorgeous and many-tinted fires, 
the fair politician, turning round to her husband, 
exclaimed, " Now, my dear, aren't you satisfied 
with Louis Napoleon ?" 

The fireworks had been well gotten up and 
well gotten off; ergo, the new regime was to be 
accepted by the bourgeoisie ! Such is the polit- 
ictil logic current among the middling class of 
tlie French people. 



III. 

EXCURSION IN A BERLINE PARISTENNE. 

I REGRET to be obliged to inform you, gentle 
reader, that the steamer for Avignon does not 
leave before to-morrow morning ! Meanwhile, 
what shall we do with ourselves ? For my part, 
I think Lyons, in its best estate, the dullest town 
in Europe, it being entirely given over to silk- 
weaving ; and to-day the streets will be so un- 
comfortably full of gens d'armes and soldiery, 
that sight-seeing would probably prove anything 
but a pastime. Suppose — garcon! des cigarres 
— suppose, as we can not leave town, I tell you 
a story of how I did get out of Lyons the first 
time I had the misfortune to get into it. 

Agreed. And then, if worst comes to worst, 



A NEW COACH. S7 

we can play dominoes and drink eau sucree, like 
Frenchmen. 

You must know that in less than six hours 
after my first arrival in Lyons — not having then 
the honor of your agreeable company — I was 
desperate with ennui. It was that kind which 
the French call Vincommensurahle ennui de Veter- 
nite. Consequently* I resolved to leave town by a 
coach of that evening. But not a place was to 
be had in the coupe of any diligence, going 
north, south, east, or west. At least such was 
the report of the hotel commissioner. 

Therefore, I sallied forth myself to see what 
chance and my own eyes might do for me. Be- 
fore going far my attention was attracted by a 
new Berline Farisienne, standing before the door 
of a dilige^ice office ; and on inquiring respecting 
the destination of the carriage, I was informed 
that it was to be despatched the next morning to < 
Geneva. The enterprise being a new one, not a 
seat in the coupe had been bespoken. I opened 
tlie door and looked in. The internal furnishing 
corresponded with the elegance of the exterior. 



38 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

The cusliions were luxuriously soft ; the back 
was well stuffed ; in short, no English family 
travelling-carriage ever looked more comfortable. 
When I closed the door my mind was made up 
to visit Switzerland. I believe I should have 
booked myself for the ends of the earth, had the 
vehicle been going there. 

At the same time I liad a strong presentiment 
that I should have the whole of the coupe to my- 
self. The morrow beiug a fete day, no Lyonnais 
would start on a journey. A Swiss would prefer 
the intcrieur, on the principle that the six insides 
could make a thicker smoke than three in the 
coupe. Any Italians, who might be going, would 
stow themselves av/ay in the imperial. Span- 
iards do not travel. As to English and Ameri- 
cans, they would not probably have heard of this 
new enterprise. I should therefore be in posses- 
sion of the whole front of the carriage. Not a 
doubt of it. 

The next morning, as the commissioner came 
at the appointed hour to wake me, sitting up in 
my bed, I addressed him as follows : — 



A DINNER BASKET. 39 

" I am now going to confide myself to your 
hands." 

To which he replied, in substance, that I had 
never done a wiser thing in my life ; nor could 1 
now do anything which would be more entirely 
satisfactory to himself. 

'' Where were you born ?" 

*' In the town of xb'les." 

^' In the town of Aries ! Quelle Bonheur ! 
Had you had yourself, instead of your mother, 
the choice of your birthplace, you could not 
have selected one so much to my present pur- 
pose." 

" At monsieur's service." 

'' I want you to make the purchase of an Aries 
sausage for my dinner." 

" I am the man to render monsieur that ser- 
vice." 

" You mean to say that when you see a saiu- 
cisse d'' Aries, you know it ?" 

" Without doubt, monsieur, what I see I know." 

" And when you taste a saucisse (r Aries, you 
know that something special is in your palate ? 



40 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

You can distinguisli it, even at sight, from any 
counterfeit hashed up here in Lyons ?" 

" I am able to do it." 

" Then, as the Spaniards say, Vaya con Dios 
— go with God — and buy me an Aries sausage ; 
add a cold chicken ; bread, at discretion ; a 
cream cheese ; a couple of bottles of I'Hermi- 
tage ; and pack all in a clean basket." 

" At monsieur's service." 

I arrived at the diligence office just in time to 
hear my name called out by the conductor. As 
I stepped forward, the crowd gave way with 
marked signs of deference for a gentleman who 
was to occupy place No. 1 in the coupe of a 
Berline Parisienne. The horses were already 
joined on to the coach. The postillion held 
the ribbons. It was to be such a go-oif as had 
never been witnessed in Lyons before. The 
six grays had been well chosen ; they had been 
well groomed ; and they had their heads well 
tasselled with worsted, and their tails tied up 
with ribbons. The jehu was worthy of his steeds. 
He was no ordinary post-boy in a blue blouse ; 



A COXCOMB. 41 

but the very coxcomb of the roads. A fellow in 
a glazed hat, that morning out of the box, and 
having the smartest of cocades in it. A heavy 
pair of gold rings hung from liis ears ; and the 
official horn was suspended gayly behind his left 
shoulder. The whole man, in fact, was done up 
in a dashing uniform, destined to make the lips 
of many a roadside grisette water, but to look 
at in passing. Heedless of the gaping crowd 
around, he sat upon his box as if sitting upon 
his dignity, bolt upright and eyes forward. When 
the cathedral clock finished striking the hour of 
nine, he put horn to mouth and blew a blast, the 
very first notes of which raised the ears of the 
leaders to the lino perpendicular, tumbled over a 
neighboring apple-woman, and cleared the track 
of some dozen yards of rabble. 

Horn in one hand, and whip in the other ; and 
so we rattled out of the town of Lyons. Crack ! 
crack ! went the lash. Up the gamut, and down 
the gamut, gayly went the horn. 

All vulgar vehicles gave w^ay to us. One 
market woman, in her hiarry to get to the wall, 



42 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

drove lier donkey smack up against the window 
of a pastry-cook, where, ass though he was, he 
had wit enough not to take his nose out of the 
plum-cake, into which it had been so indiscreetly 
hurried, without bringing off enough comfortably 
to settle his breakfast. He got, indeed, a good 
walloping, still further to aid his digestion ; but 
by the way in which he stuck out his nose, and 
smacked his chops, it was plain that he relished 
the cake notwithstanding the cudgelling. 

Down the long avenue away we went like 
mad. The simple citizens, going about their 
daily business, turned round to see what it was 
so loudly tearing after them. Newsboys gave 
over crying their papers to throw up their caps 
at the new coach, and let off a merry gibe at its 
driver. Many a busy tradesman did our rattling 
wheels attract to the doorway to witness the 
passing tumult. Many a housewife's head we 
drew out of the window, tickling right smartly 
the point of her curiosity. The sauntering school- 
boy swung his satchel at our flashy pageant, and 
tooted through his fingers in imitation of the tune 



GIllSETTES. 43 

of the postillion. It was more like l)cing ])ornc 
in ti-innipli tlian anything that hail ever happened 
to me. 

Sitting- on my three seats, that is to say, sit- 
ting on the middle one, and with arms akimbo 
occupying the two others, I took to myself what- 
ever of thej^ublic admiration it suited me to ap- 
propriate. Of course I gave little heed to the 
shouts of the small boys ; nor any special atten- 
tion to any of the specimens of masculine wonder 
which followed our cortege, even to the town's 
gates. But when any particularly pretty maid's 
face was turned up in admiration, I did not fail 
to note it. I did not fail to observe that it was 
directed, not so much to the coach as to the 
coupe. On the instant I was ready to answer it. 
I was down upon the sweet eyes with my glass 
— glass in onejiand and the tip of my moustache 
in the other. A balance of admiration was duly 
struck ere our eyes parted. Bless my soul ! 
How many pretty grisettes there are in the town 
of Lyons. How wdiite, and neat, and ki?s-me-if- 
you-will, their caps are. Only it requires some 



44 COSAS DE ESP AN A. 

art to draw these pretty creatures out ; and from 
my experience, I believe there is nothing like a 
new coach-and-six to do it. A man might visit 
Lyons a hundred times, and yet, unless he should 
bethink him of coming out in a new Berline 
Parisienne to hunt up the beauty of the town, he 
might never get half an idea of what I saw that 
morning. 

But once passed the gates — wretch that I am 
— the country damsels very soon put all recollec- 
tion of my city sweethearts out of mind.^ It 
seemed to me, in getting among the fields, that 
the beauty I had left behind was of that pale, 
unsunned, unripe hue, which makes one dread 
lest in the girl of his heart he may be wooing an 
angel of consumption. It was very much the 
hue of sour grapes. But on the road the maids 
were -all as brown as nuts. And, heavens ! what 
sweet simplicity, what blushing innocence, what 
charming naivete. They had never seen a Ber- 
line Parisienne before, the dear things. Scarcely 
had they ever looked on a man in a coupe before, 
one would have said ; certainly, never upon one 



COUNTRY-GIRLS. 45 

occupying all its three seats. Ah ! how the 
red blood streamed through the brown of their 
cheeks when their eyes met the eyes of the trav- 
elling gentleman, with arms akimbo. His mous- 
tache in the air was too much for them. And 
how fragrant, too, the violets, just transferred 
from the hot-beds of the garden to those of their 
bosoms, would have been to him if he could have 
stopped the coach to get at them. 

Ma foi ! The road from Lyons to Geneva is 
no " hard road to travel." I have been jolted 
over highways in France enough without even so 
much as seeing a solitary cap to take my fan- 
cy. Nothing but market-women and poultry-girls 
from one end of the journey to the other. Heads 
as unkempt as those of a gipsy or a German ; 
feet as big as camels' feet ; and skins as if they 
had just come from the currier's. But 'twas not 
so on the road from Lyons to Geneva that May 
morning. For it was May-day ; and the beauty 
of all the country round lined the roadside with 
the flowers and the smiles of spring. It may 
never happen again, for aught I know ; and, 



46 COSAS DE ESP AN A. 

even then, I should probably have seen nothing 
so very extraordinary, had I not been travelling 
in a new Berline Parisienne. 

The farther we proceeded into the country, the 
greater seemed the sensation produced by our 
arrival. In the smaller towns and villages, our 
coming turned as many heads as ever did that 
of a prince-royal. One uninterrupted gaze of 
curiosity and of wonder followed us from morn- 
ing to night. As we came in sight, the plough- 
man stopped short in his furrow ; the gardener 
leaned on his hoe ; the smith let cool the iron on 
the anvil ; the carpenter arrested his blov»^ over 
the nail ; the angler heeded not the glorious nib- 
ble ; and the spinster stayed her wheel in full 
career. No pedagogue could keep his pupils 
from looking out of the window ; no good-wife 
could prevent her twelve sons and daughters 
from rushing over each other out of the doorway. 
Every ale-house was set agog ; and every village 
inn was turned inside out. The grannies grinned ; 
the small boys jumped half their length in the 
air ; and at every halting-place the hostler's eyes 



PARBLEU ! 47 

were as big as five-franc pieces. In short, there 
were more exclamations and mon-Dietis uttered 
on the road from Lyons to Geneva that day, than 
the world could conveniently contain, if printed. 

The prevailing tone of remark, as with crack- 
ing whip and braying trumpet, we dashed through 
the towns, I can not be expected to have myself 
heard ; but if I am any interpreter of physiogno- 
my, it must have been as follows : — 

" There goes a Milord Anglais !" says one. 

"That man has ten thousand a year!" says 
another. 

" He's a big g — d-d — n, travelling in advance 
of the crowd !" echoes a third. 

" Certainment. He has engaged beforehand 
all the best rooms in all the great hotels in Swit- 
zerland !" 

" Parbleu. He occupies the three seats of the 
coupe, and will want three beds to sleep in !" 

" He's one of the droles — one of the bizarres 
— and is bound for the top of Mont Blanc in 
winter !" 

"He takes the precaution of a seasonable 



48 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

start, so as not to incur the risk of making a new 
acquaintance, on his travels !" 

The furious driving gave me no opportunity to 
correct the errors into which these good people 
fell so readily. Otherwise I would gladly have 
explained to them, as I passed, that I was indeed 
no lion, but simply Nick Bottom, the weaver, 
going to Geneva. 

But the anxiety of the conductor to arrive at 
the end of his journey by eight of the clock in- 
commoded the inside passengers still more se- 
riously. They could not stop to get their dinner. 
Yet, the majority of them were evidently not in 
the habit of going without it. I pitied them ; 
but what more could I do for them ? Most of 
them were men of girth ; and one, more especial- 
ly, appeared capable of swallowing my whole 
basket, as a mere primer. By midday, I noticed 
a fall in his countenance ; and by four o'clock, 
the look it had assumed was actually ravenous. 
If ever there was a hungry man, that respectable 
Swiss gentleman was one that day. But what 
could I do for him ? 



DINING EN ROUTE. 49 

However, the not being in a situation to relieve 
the necessities of fello's^-travellers, would be a 
poor reason for not attending to one's own. I, 
myself, therefore, dined. That sense of satisfac- 
tion which a person feels after he has -done the 
good deed of ministering to the necessities of his 
inner man — that sense orpleasing fullness in re- 
gions where Nature most doth abhor a vacuum — 
that sense of stomachic complacency, about the 
existence of which not even the doctors of either 
medicine or divinity disagree — I felt it in per- 
fection that day. At four o'clock, sharp, I raised 
up my drop-table. I drew out my drawer. And, 
behold ! there were my glasses, and my decanter 
of fresh water. It was more than I wanted. 
The water was a superfluity. In fact, I had in 
my basket every convenience, except a table ; 
and that, too, was now spread before me. What 
reasonable traveller could have asked for more ? 
Servants would have been an incumbrance, and 
could only have been stowed away under the 
table. Platters would have poured tKeir contents 
into your lap at every lurch of the carriage ; and 



50 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

sliarp carving knives and forks would have run 
you through, in the event of a hreak-dovrn, or 
tip-over. 

Reader ! Do you know what virtue there is in 
a cold cut of French roast chicken ? The ques- 
tion is not an idle one. A chicken, let me tell 
you, is not a chicken the world over. Tliere is 
a difference. Your English, or American bird, is 
not at all the thing. To fatten this animal re- 
quires an aged granny of the blood of la grande 
nation. None like her knows where to lay the 
fat, and where, the lean on. She has a motherly 
way of tying the chick to her apron-strings, and 
keeping him warm under the protection of her 
petticoats. She feeds him on tit-bits. Gives him 
porridge. Makes pates for him. Encourages 
his sleeping. Doesn't let him fight, or get his 
blood up ; but lets him crow whenever he has a 
mind to. By these, and other secret arts, his 
meat is rendered juicy, and savory, beyond any 
chicken meat in Christendom. I except that of 
A^ienna only, where the gehratene hiihner, of 
about the size of a man's fist, are perfect butter 



FRENCH COLD CHICKEN. 51 

balls, and not to be set down as inferior to the 
Gallic cock or any nation's roosters. 

I did' not, therefore, leave Lyons without a 
poulet roti in my basket. En route, a man can 
not properly dine on anything else. Not even a 
Frenchman can take along a plate of soup in his 
pocket ; nor did I ever hear of an Englishman's 
being served in a diligence with roast beef and 
plum pudding. But a roasted chicken is easily 
packed — is not inconvenient to eat — and rides 
comfortably on all men's stomachs. Think how 
awkward a fricassee w^ould be in such circum- 
stances ; or a vol au vent ; or a kettle of fish. 
Whoever insists on these dishes must forswear 
travelling. 

As I unpacked my pannier, I could but con- 
gratulate myself on the non-appearance of any 
uninvited guests at my board that day. Had 
half a dozen friends dropped in to share pot-luck 
wdth me, I might have felt a little embarrassed ; 
and should have had to dine them, in part, on 
the unsavory dish of excuses. " Sorry I can set 
before you only a pick-up ; had a capital dinner 



52 COSAS DE ESP AN A. 



for you yesterday !" Still, though I could not, 
in justice to my friends, have wished to see the 
faces of many of them, under such circumstances, 
there was one whom, as I sat picking my solitary 
bone, I would have given at least all that re- 
mained in my basket to have had present. Isn't 
it Goethe, who says that it does a pair of black 
eyes good to look into a pair of blue ones ? He 
might have said it, certainly. And by the time 
I had got to the bottom of my first bottle, sure 
enough, we did sit there, vis a vis, looking into 
each other's eyes, over the rims of our glasses. 
Yes, those Olympic orbs shone full upon me. I 
stopped carving my chicken bone to grasp that 
dear hand. After every glass of the Burgundy 
I said again, " Give me your hand." We were 
" glorious" together. Nor, as we got down into 
the second bottle, did we forget our absent 
friends. We toasted them all, and did them 
handsomely brown. Then we drank to the 
health of the fat passenger in the interieur ; and 
wished all our fellow-travellers ho7i appetit. 
Finally, we told each other our choicest stories. 



WAKING UP IN GENEVA. 53 

We sang to each other our tenderest songs. 
And as the swan is fabled to sing herself to 
sleep, so did we gently fall into slumber's arms 
with our mouths full of bars of music. I slept, 
I know not how sweetly or how long. All that 
I am sure of is, that the voice of the conductor 
suddenly woke me, as, opening the door of the 
coupe, he triumphantly cried out, " Yous voila. 
Monsieur, a Geneve, a huit lieures, moins deux 
secondes 1" 

I aroused myself from my dreams ; threw out 
my basket and bottles to a beggar who stood 
conveniently by ; tossed my keys to the commis- 
sioner of the hotel des Bcrgnes ; and, in wishing 
bon soir to the elated conductor, added — 

" Coaclimiin, coachman, lake twice tliy fee, 
For spirit one hath roflc with me." 



lY. 

GOING UP A MOUNTAIN. 

Being in Switzerland you wish to ascend a 
mountain. I advise you not to do it. The ocean 
is most impressive, seen from the land ; and so 
are mountains, when viewed from the plains. 
You climb a summit, and it at once becomes a 
reality, precisely so many feet in elevation above 
the level of the sea ; but as you gaze at it from a 
distance, it is a magnum ignotum of the imagina- 
tion, reaching to the skies. 

No view of Mont Blanc ever produced so ex- 
citing an effect on my imagination as the first, ob- 
tained at a considerable distance. As I drove into 
Geneva from the French frontier, the heavy morn- 
ing mists were being gradually cleared up, until 
at last through tlie glimmer — now fainter, and 



MONT BLANC. 55 

now more clearly revealed by the flashing sun- 
sliine — amid a multitude of cross lights stream- 
ing into the rising mists, and reflected from the 
lower peaks and declivities — stood half hidden 
in dazzling light, like a pillar in Heaven's gate, 
the mighty form of Mont Blanc. It was the 
mountain, as it were, in a transfiguration. Never 
afterward when hammering off" specimens from 
every layer of his rocks, or plucking flowers from 
every zone of his climates, and taking day by 
day the great mountain familiarly by the beard, 
did this monarch of the Alps so exalt my thoughts, 
as on that morning, when first descried through 
the veil of mists. 

I once spent a month in Geneva without climb- 
ing higher than the third story of the hotel des 
Bergues — and was all the while in the enjoy- 
ment of the most romantic mountain thoughts 
one could possibly wish to feel, or to afi'ect. Did 
not Byron write his Alpine lines in a snug villa 
on the shores of Leman ? Did not Goethe de- 
scribe the Hartz over his pot of beer in low- 
placed Gotha ? And did not Coleridge apostro- 



56 cos AS DE ESPANA. 

pliize the White Mount comfortably settled in 
tlie Chamomii tavern ? Not one line of poetry 
in a hundred addressed to the mountain-tops -was 
ever written on them. When there, the poet has 
something else to do besides indite verses. What 
ardor could there be in strains composed, while 
the poor author was rubbing his nose with one 
hand to keep it from freezing, and holding on to 
his hat with the other to save it from sailing off 
with the hurricane ? Any poetic afflatus super- 
added would, very likely, carry away both hat 
and man. No, in the mountains the poet holds 
rather to his pole than his pen. Unless more 
than usually crack-brained, he carefully guards 
against all attacks of the " fine frenzy" during 
his visits to the summits, lest in his abstracted- 
ness he might walk off" a precipice ; and when he 

has got safely down upon the level bosom of 
» 
mother earth, and collected together his wits, 

his cloak, and his umbrella, then first does he 

begin to wax poetical. 

Believe me, I have met poets in the mountains; 

and of all men they were the most forlorn and 



POETS IN THE ALPS. 0< 

bliic-nosed. They never had any schnapps with 
them ! They had come up there for no other 
purpose than to drink inspiration out of Apollo's 
sources ; and had made no provision of Hol- 
lands or cognac. Simple souls, they had no 
thought but what they should be asked to dine 
by the mountain divinities ; and had not had the 
common prudence to put even a few sandwiches 
in their knapsacks. But the keen air, instead of 
making them more inspired than they were be- 
fore, had only rendered them more hungry. On 
the top of a mountain, and no cold tongue, except 
til at in their own mouths ! No cold ham, except 
what they stood on ! No champaigne ; no Lon- 
don porter ; no eau de Selz ; not even a drop of 
spring water ; nothing but snow, ice, and the 
mountain. Into such absurdities will your poets 
ascend, under the mistaken notion that the top 
of Mont Blanc is a proper place for writing blank 
verse. Such persons, ninety-nine times in a hun- 
dred, will find their true poetic level much lower 
down. Whenever you meet such a one wander- 
ing among the summits, the most charitable thing 

3* 



58 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

you can do, after giving him a good strong horn 
of brandy, is to show him the way down to where 
he started from. He will, generally, be met 
roving without a guide, if not lost in a fog. 
Take the simple child of nature kindly by the 
hand ; conduct him to the high road, or the near- 
est path leading to it ; stick unobserved a roll of 
bread in his pocket at parting ; and impress upon 
his mind the propriety of not looking back until 
he is fairly out of the mountains. When he gets 
down to terra-firma, and has had a good supper, 
and put his feet in warm water, and slept soundly 
some twelve or sixteen hours, he will be restored 
to his right mind, and will quite likely write very 
readable sonnets. 

Come you, gentle reader, rather with me ; and 
we will look at the Alps, as the painter does, 
from below. We will behold them in perspective. 
For 'tis in distance that lies all enchantment. 

We leave the town behind, and going across 
the fields, by the path of le petit Saconnex, we 
gradually gain the brow of a high ridge of land 
which overlooks two valleys. At a consider al)le 



SUNSET. 59 

distance beyond the broad sweep of one of these 
may be seen Ferney, and the finely-placed chateau 
of Voltaire ; while beyond tlie other lie the city 
of Geneva, and the head of Lake Leman. Rows 
of ancient sycamores make a magnificent avenue, 
up and down whicli we walk, having Calvin on 
one side and Voltaire on the other. 

But adjourning the debate, theological or phil- 
osophical, we will now turn poets and look at 
the Alps. For there they stand ; and look which 
way we will at thcni, Mont Blanc is still face to 
face with us. It rules the prospect and will be 
seen. In this pure atmosphere, though a hun- 
dred miles away it seems near, and is even here 
an overshadowing presence. During my resi- 
dence in Geneva this was my favorite haunt, 
under these trees. At the going down of day, 
my companion and myself might oft be seen 
sitting, like wayfarers, on the road-side bench, 
and in the chequered shade. The morning's 
clouds having been evaporated in the dry air, the 
bald head of the royal Alp stood out in strong 
relief against the sky. As the sun nearod the 



60 cos AS DE ESPAISJA. 

horizon behind us, the whole air became filled 
with the warm tints of the sunset. Instead of 
the gray colors of the noontide, the mountain 
sides and valleys put on a rose hue, which, in 
certain aspects, deepened to purple, and in others 
faded into blue ; while in the upper air, the triple- 
headed mount flamed against the firmament with 
all his snows blood red. 
How gorgeous the scene ! 

■ But, gradually, the glowing rays began to fade 
from the lower landscape. At first, the windo\7S 
of the city lost their blaze, as the sun sank below 
the line of the horizon. Then, the shadows of the 
coming twilight stole out from the banks of the 
lake, and threw a film of obscurity over its gleaming 
surface. Next, the valleys became softly enfold- 
ed in gray mantles of mist. The crimson slowly 
faded out of the cheek of the mountain sides. 
The lower snow heights grew pale. But long 
after the twilight had thrown its half-shadows 
over city and lake, over valleys and liill-tops. the 
summit of Mont Blanc still continued to glow 
v*^ith undiminished effulgence. Yet, as tlie sun 



STAIILIGIIT. 61 

sank farther and farther down, tlic line of rose- 
light mounted higlicr and higher up, until at last 
tlie final ray played upon the crest of snows. 
One parting kiss, and the brow of the mountain 
was left as pale as that of a woman at the fading 
away of her last hope of love. Colorless, but 
pure, stood the white ^Deak in the blue of the up- 
per firmament. All nature below was by this 
time wrapt in gloom ; but until long after the 
evening had woveu its garland of stars around 
. the hoar mountain's head, could it be seen tower- 
ing through mid-heaven in solitary and awful 
majesty. 

Still, you wish to go up a mountain. Well — 
everybody does once. And certainly the recol- 
lection of that sunrise seen, in student days, from 
the summit of the Giant mountains of Silesia, ought 
to make me well disposed toward any similar 
undertaking. But, then, t1iat sudden breaking 
up of the mists, as the sun rose above the horizon, 
letting in the exulting rays to paint with every 
possible hue to be found on nature's easel the 
drifting cloud-forms, and disclosing at the same 



62 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

time through tlie openings in them the beautiful 
landscape of the Silesian plains below — it was 
what may not be expected twice in a lifetime. 
Well was it worth the being drenched in the 
night mists ; the clambering up the rocky path ; 
the supping on stale eggs ; and the sleeping on 
the floor amid snoring peasants. Nor scarcely 
less pleasing are my recollections of the White 
mountains of our own New Hampshire, from the 
tops of which one looks down upon interminable 
forests, throwing over hill and valley, as far as 
the eye can reach, their magnificent carpet of va- 
riously tinted tree-tops. It is this boundless ex- 
tent of woods, by the way, which is the charac- 
teristic feature of American mountain scenery, 
compared with that of Europe. 

A sunrise on the mountains, then, is well worth 
seeing — if it can be seen at all. There is but 
this one condition. If, being a bonafide lover of 
the mountains, you have made up your mind to 
spend the whole summer among them, you, of 
course- will have an opportunity of witnessing sun- 
rises and sunsets. But there is the case of the 



UP THE RIGIII. 63 

traveller wlio can spare but one day in his life 
for the ascent of an Alp, and must be fifty miles 
away the next. He, too, must go up — and be able 
to say ever after to his untravelled friends, 
" When I ascended the Righi I" 

Well — let him go up. Unluckily, he happens 
to be on the sunny side ; and the rules require 
the summer traveller always to ascend the shady 
one. But 'tis fifty miles around ; and he has no 
time for the journey. He, therefore, must go up 
where he is. Tlie day is hot ; and he weighs, I 
know not how many stone, without his boots. 
xVccordingly, he makes the ascent in nankeens, 
taking along a spare top-coat. He starts com- 
fortably enough in a carriage ; afterward takes 
donkey, which is decidedly a change for the 
worse ; and, at last, foots the perpendicular 
finale of his day's journey, which puts the climax 
to his sufferings. The ordinary haps and mishaps 
of such an ascent would be most laughable, in the 
case of so fat a man, were he not rather a subject 
for commiseration. He breaks down long before 
either his carriage or his donkey. His nerves 



64 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

get started at tlie very first precipice. Tliere 
being more dust than air on the road, tlie diffi- 
culty in his breathing becomes greater and great- 
er as he gains the regions of the atmosphere 
highly rarefied. He hasn't walked a mile on a 
stretch before for ten years ; and therefore has 
no wind worth mentioning. Were it a pouring 
rain, he couldn't be wetter. His linen sticks to 
him- as if he had just been lifted out of the dock. 
The rocks of the mountain are as hot as bricks 
ill a kiln. With stone walls all around, there is 
not a shadow on the road for half a mile ahead. 
He would like to put every cascade on the way 
to the uses of a shower-bath ; and instead of en- 
joying the scenery, he is disturbed at every step 
with fears of melting. The case is, indeed, well 
nigh desperate ; but 'tis no worse to go on than 
to turn back. 

At length, however, with the night arrives the 
weary traveller at the summit. He has now got 
on his top-coat. The ladies of the party, whose 
faces, all day long had been a,s flaming as that of 
the sun overhead, are now all in shawls. The 



A FOfi. C)iy 

whole company look badly frost-bitten. Tlie 
wind almost takes them off their feet. They ask 
for a fire, and are shown into the kitchen. There 
is not much warmth, and less supper. Bed is 
the only refuge ; and that is a doubtful one. 
Tlie traveller reads with dismay the regulations 
of the house posted on the walls of his chamber, 
" No guests allowed to go out to see the sunrise 
in the bed-blankets, without paying extra." How 
much, then, will it cost him to put on the featlier 
bed ? He lies down to sleep ; but can not close 
his eyes for tlie loud talking of his next neigh- 
bors, who are making fun of the mountain. Or 
he dreams tliat he is wedged in at sea between 
icebergs, and shiv?rs by the hour, like a ghost. 

At length, in the middle of the night, lie is 
calle.d up to see the sunrise. He thrusts his 
head out of the window and finds it pitch dark. 
He lies down again ; but is tormented with fears 
of losing the promised spectacle. So he gets up 
once more ; and after having put on the l:)lankets 
and the feather bed, sallies out into tlie fearful 
gloom. Tliere he stands in a thick fog ; and 



6Q COSAS DE ESPANA. 

there they all stand, like so many blanketed owls, 
gazing into the opaque void. The cold becomes 
at length intolerable ; and our traveller goes to 
bed the third time, swearing that he will not get 
up again until after sunrise. 

It is the only wise step he has taken since he 
started on the ascent. For the mist turns to 
rain ; and the poor man is finally obliged to go 
down the mountain in a cloud, dogged to-the heels 
by a thunderbolt. Such is mountain climbing — 
or was when a certain acquaintance of mine last 
tried it. 



y. 

GOING DOWN THE RHONE. 

At an early hour of the second day after my 
arrival at Lyons, I was on board La Hirondelle, 
with prow turned toward the Mediterranean. 
As usual upon the Rhone, it was blowing a gale 
of wind — une bise a decorner les boeufs. And 
beautiful as may be this river of France, the first 
puff of the mistral disenchants its banks, and de- 
stroys all possibility of the voyage poetical. Ah, 
then, how do the bridal tourists, from beyond 
sea, wish it were the Hudson they were descend- 
ing, and the well-known spires of home were in 
the place of those strange towers which frown 
from the heights of the Rhone. How then does 
the delicate belle of American cities, whose every 
dream for many a month has been tinged with 



68 cos AS DE ESP AN A. 

the purple of the sunsets she expects to behold 
in Italy, feel in her heart the sting of an arrow 
of disappointment, as she looks out upon the 
storm-driven waters, and upon all of vegetation's 
forms bending in supplication before the unrelent- 
ing blast. How then does the invalid, who is 
painfully making his way down from the north 
in search of heavens more genial, regret the 
comforts of his own wood-lit fireside, and look 
out upon this hurly-burly of air and earth vv^ith 
blank despair. 

In early September, when the peach was hang- 
ing out its blood-red sides from the green branch- 
es, and the grape was bending down with its pur- 
ple burden the vine, I have mounted the Rhone in 
top-coat buttoned close in the neck. My memory 
still aches with the remains of that frost-bite. At 
such times, the passengers, driven from the deck, 
are huddled into the narrow cabin. Then, if 
there are stoves, you will find them red-hot, and 
the air of a temperature which one would sup- 
pose might be agreeable to imp and salamander, 
rathei*than to pleasure tourists and invalids trav- 



LANKS OF THi: ItllONE. 69 

elling for their health. If there are no fires, you 
put on coat or shawl, and sit on your bench 
scarcely less disconsolate. You turn, perhaps, 
for relief to Murray. That is coideur cle rose, 
both book and binding. You read of the delight- 
ful banks of tlic Rhone. How soft the zephyrs 
that gambol with the ripples on the shore ; how 
graceful the river reaches ; hovv" gay the banks 
festooned with vines. The distant valleys are 
lost in blue ; and far off the evening mountain 
tops are draped in clouds of purple and of pearl. 
Of a truth, it is more pleasing to read the descrip- 
tion of the river on the printed page than to look 
through the breath-stained window of the cabin 
at the reality. 

However, the Rhone has better moods than 
this. One such do I well remember, when, fol- 
lowing in the train of spring, I was leisurely 
making my way up to the north. Perhaps the 
mood was partly my own ; for my mind was then 
filled with pleasing southern memories, and my 
heart warm with the sunshine of the terra caliente, 
whence I came. Certain it is, I mounted the 



70 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

Rhone as gayly as flies the bird let loose in east- 
ern skies. Yet, not as a dove hastens back to 
its home, on a single stretch of its wings ; but 
rather like the short flights of a songster in the 
spring, seeking its mate from tree-top to tree-top. 
The daily march of my travels being regulated 
by no preconceived plan, and having so much 
time on my hands that I was not forced to heed 
its lapse, or loss, there was scarcely a pretty town 
on the river with which I did not dally, and flirt, 
at least, a day or two. I profitably emj^loyed 
a short time studying the type of beauty in the 
women of Aries. Nearly a week was passed 
roaming among the ruins of the ancient Romans 
at Nismes, and gazing again and again at that fa- 
mous architectural gem, the Maison Carree. A 
few afternoons were whiled away in sauntering 
through the gardens and promenades of Montpe- 
lier, once the resort of English fashion, before it 
had found its way to the softer skies of Nice, 
Pisa, and Naples. The views, certainly, are 
charming ; for you look, on one side, over far- 
stretching valleys to mountains beyond ; and, on 



BATHS OF AIX. 71 

the other, to the shining line of the distant Med- 
iterranean. The air, too, is pure and lively ; but 
there must be seasons when, from its high, isola- 
ted position, this fair city is visited a little too 
roughly by the winds of heaven, and when the 
delicate invalid would have to shut himself up in 
his chambers for days together, to escape the 
raee of flood and hurricane. 

A week, also, I gloriously spent reading the 
love-songs of the Troubadours in the tepid baths 
of Aix, the town of olives now, and formerly of 
minnesingers. Here, in early days was the min- 
strel's homo ; and here was held by ladies fair 
the high court of love. The town library has 
many a well-gilt alcove of Provencal poesy. In- 
deed, it seemed to my enchanted senses that the 
sunny spring air was still full of sonnets. Every 
passing zephyr swept the strings of invisible love 
lyres. As the moon rode up over the neighbor- 
ing mountains, I fancied, as I stood in the shadow 
of the statue of lo bon roi Rene in the deserted 
market-place, that there could be heard in the 
rising and falling night-breeze the sighing of 



72 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

lovelorn poets, the measured vows of knights, 
sueing to their mistresses, and the rhymed fare- 
wells of chieftains, leaving for the wars. 

Nor did the old Romans seem to me scarcely 
less near. For here, too, were their baths — the 
very hot springs of Sextius. Here was once 
their camp, their walled town, their villas. Sen- 
sible people those Romans; — not a thermal 
fountain ever escaped their attention. Wherever 
natui^e made a warm bath for them, there they 
built a city. 

And I, no less true to a penchant for soft wa- 
ters, idled away a week in them — living mean- 
while en prince at the hotel of the same name. 
Being the only guest at that early season, I was 
waited upon by the whole household, and had 
troops of menials at my most humble service. 
Still more — I had a nosegay of fresh violets 
brought me every day at dinner by a flower-girl, 
out of whose eyes beamed the blue heaven of her 
native Italy, and the raising of whose modest lids, 
as she brought in the flowers, was like the dawn 
of morning on the top of Fiesole. 



TASTING BURGIUNDY. 73 

Perhaps it was the recollection of those orbs — 
perhaps it was the Burgundy — but I seemed to 
be under some sort of a hallucination all the way 
from Aix up to Lyons. The juices of tliat wine 
district are, indeed, about as capable of turning 
a man's head, as the eyes of any Italian flower- 
girls. In passing through that home of the vine, 
all sense, all feeling is naturally concentrated in 
the tip and top of the tongue. The lips have but 
one office — it is to kiss the cup. The mouth is 
full of perfumes. The drinker's own lips are as 
sweet to him as were to her those of the maid who 
kissed herself in the mirror. The palate — alas ! 
if it should have been cut off by a quack — vibrates 
with sensations the most delicate and semi-divine. 
Wandering through those delectable hills, one 
may very often come near seeing Fauns and 
Satyrs. He may even himself gradually and un- 
consciously put on the airs of the god who first 
loved Avine ; and may catch himself from time 
to time, raising his hand to his temples, to feel 
whether they are not bound around with ivy. 

Besides stopping at all the principal Bur- 



74 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

gundy towns, I looked hard at several of the vil- 
lages, but had my misgivmgs. I tried my legs, 
however, at here and there a hill-side, and sat 
no less merry than sentimental, on the topmost 
stone of many a fine old robber ruin, hanging 
high above the river. 

And all this in perpetual sunshine. Invariably 
the day came in with unclouded serenity, and 
went out with glowing effulgence. The air had 
all the softness and the balm of the spring in far 
southern climes. One revelled in the sunlight 
more than at a feast ; and to breathe the air was 
a magnificent entertainment. The grass was 
deep green on bank and border, while the early 
flowers thrust up their heads gayly among the 
blades. On the trees the leaf had already un- 
rolled its new and polished surface to the sun ; 
and the bees were loading down their legs in the 
richly-scented blossoms. 

Then, the Rhone was like unto a river of para- 
dise. So smooth was its flow, that every bank 
of flowers, or forest, every projecting headland, 
or overhanging mountain-top, every town at the 



A LANDSCAPE. 75 

water's edge and every hamlet on the hills, every 
bridge, and spire, and ruin, every sail and rising 
smoke, the fisher-boy sitting in his boat, the cat- 
tle drinking in the stream, the birds flying in 
mid-heaven, — all were mirrored in the glassy 
tide, as on a painted canvass. In fact, the scenes 
reminded one of what in early days he had seen 
in fairy-land. The landscape had an air of unre- 
ality. The prospect was a halo of the imagina- 
tion, Bhd not at all tlie river you had before seen 
whipped and scourged by the mistral. 

Reader, may you never know by experience 
the difference. When you go on your travels 
from Lyons to the sea, may the soft southwest 
wind fan you ; and the bitter blast be pent up in 
its Alpine ice-caves. May the gorgeous, bounti- 
ful days of autumn wait on your going, and the 
heavens shower upon your coming back the bud- 
ding hopes of the spring season. Never linger 
on the Parisian Boulevards, like too many of your 
countrymen, until the chill days of winter come 
on. Then, the descent of the Rhone by steamer 
is no more to be counselled than the going to sea 



rr 



6 COSAS DE ESPANA. 



in a bowl. If, unfortunately, you are compelled 
to delay your journey south until so late in the 
season, then post it. 

But, to proceed with the narrative of my win- 
ter-voyage down the Rhone. At Avignon, I 
encountered a commotion scarcely less iierce than 
that gotten up by the mistral. The whole posse 
of porters were up in arms, and disposed to play 
off the red republic on the passengers. They 
were not, I should observe, the regular carriers 
of Avignon ; for, the water being too low to allow 
the boat to come to the usual landing-place, 
the passengers were obliged to go onshore on 
the opposite side of the river. This point being 
situated without the jurisdiction of the city, the 
peasants inhabiting that bank were enabled, un- 
der connivance of the socialistic authorities of 
the district, to take exclusive possession of the 
business of transporting luggage from that sta- 
tion to Avignon. They would not permit any 
city porter, or coachman, to show his head on 
their side of the river. They had also clubbed 
together among themselves, and established the 



AVIGNON PORTERSi. 77 

most extortionate rates of remuneration for their 
servi(fes ever heard of in countries Christian. 
If a traveller, indignant at the fees demanded, 
turned away from the first applicant to some 
other of the red-capped throng which pressed 
around him and his impedimenta ^ the terms would 
be raised one half. If, in his anger, he made a 
third attempt at negotiation, the citoyen^ with a 
not very carefully-dissembled sneer, would quietly 
proceed to estimate the weight of each trunk, 
bag, box, and umbrella, by lifting it ; and then 
would very deliberately propose to take the lot 
at just double the original offer. Thus, the dis- 
concerted traveller, finding himself completely 
at the mercy of the knaves — some of whom were 
looking upon his distress with no very compas- 
sionate eyes, and even threateningly intimating 
that their politics were of the same color as 
their caps — was obliged to return, crest-fallen, 
to what, by that time, might seem to him the 
very reasonable personage whom he had met 
with first. A few weeks later, I was pleased 
to liear that these worthies had l)een taken in 



78 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

hand by Louis Napoleon, who,. for this good 
deed, merited the thanks of all travellers on the 
Rhone. 

A few hours' " railing" brought me to Mar- 
seilles. The road need not be described ; but 
two young fellow-passengers I deem worthy of 
special mention. I had taken my place in one 
of the small, first-class carriages which render 
railway-travelling so agreeable in Europe, and 
where I found already seated an elegant party, 
consisting of a French gentleman, lady, and lap- 
dog ; when the conductor opened the door to a 
couple of travellers, such as one would sooner 
expect to see in the cart of the vetturino, or on 
the top of the diligence, than in a Berline of a 
railway. They seemed to be a modern Paul and 
Yirginia on their travels. Indeed, it was plain 
that they were bound to the honey-moon, and 
thought they would sooner reach it by going in a 
first-class carriage. Each was heavily loaded 
down with a basket in one hand, and two small 
bundles in the other. At sight of this strange 
apparition, the lap-dog pricked up his ears and 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 79 

commenced barking. This, however, did not put 
the coming couple out of countenance, nor pre- 
vent their proceeding carefully to stow awav 
their chattels, as best they could, under bench 
and feet. But what most attracted my attention 
was rather the luggage than the lovers. The 
necks of two champaigne-bottles rose above the 
top of one basket ; while a carving-knife and a 
big roll of bread projected out of the mouth of 
the other. After all things had been duly ad 
justed, the two bottles promised to ride com- 
fortably together, as did also the roll and the 
carving-knife. The two lovers, likewise, put 
their heads together as close as were the noses 
of their bottles, and seemed as well matched as 
the knife and bread. Besides the baskets, they 
carried with them a box of cigars and a casket 
of smelling-bottles, a bolster of feathers and a 
sheep-skin, a foot-stove, and a straw bonnet, done 
up in a handkerchief. . The hero had on two 
top-coats, and the heroine, to all appearances, 
double the natural number of petticoats. 

After the barking was over, and the train got 



80 cos AS DE ESP AN A. 

under weigh, the happy pair very soon fell asleep. 
Thereupon, the small dog, who had been watch- 
ing his opportunity, stole down to the baskets, 
and, after smelling doubtfully at one of them, 
finally turned up his leg against it. Then, he 
crept round to the other ; and cautiously insert- 
ing his nose under the cover, fished up to the 
surface what turned out to be a baked rabbit. 
He had seized his prize by the leg, and was tug- 
ging to lift it entirely out of the basket, when a 
nod of Paul's head shook his hat off, and out fell 
a champaigne-glass directly across the nose of 
my lady's puppy. The little fellow dropped his 
dinner as though he had been shot ; cried out 
loudly for help ; and ran, half blubbering, half 
barking, to the lap of his mistress. All this 
powwow woke up the passengers. Paul replaced 
his rabbit, and Virginia looked daggers at the 
lap-dog. For my part, I held on to my sides, 
and feigned to find in Murray the cause of an 
irrepressible fit of laughter. The truth was, no 
doubt, that this runaway-match had started on 
their travels with at least one bottle of cham- 



MARSEILLES ILLUMINATED. 81 

paigiie more tliim then remained iii their basket. 
I could not otherwise so ^Ye\\ account for the 
loving manner in which the two fortunates laid 
their heads together, and drew breath out of each 
other's noses ; nor why Virginia should so far 
forget herself in her slumbers as to set one foot 
in PauFs hat, which seemed to have a greater 
affinity for the bottom of the carriage than for 
the head of its owner, and to plant the other 
firmly in the provision-basket. The whole scene 
presented a phase of hymeneal bliss which was 
altogether new to me, and suggested to my mind 
how great must be the solaces and resources of 
wedded travel over single. It turned, moreover, 
to comedy everything I saw on the road that 
afternoon — making even the lovely bay of Mar- 
seilles appear as but the scenic background of a 
farce. 

On entering the town, I found it occupied with 
soldiery, to sustain the coup d'etat at Paris. 
But the light-heartedness of the French was ma- 
king the state of siege scarcely less gay than a 
fete. The whole city w^as illuminated by the 



82 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

torches of the troops, and the numerous fires 
kept burning on the promenades where the com- 
panies were bivouacked. The blazing fagots 
shone upon the soldiers seated around in circles — ■ 
upon parties of them playing at cards — and oth- 
ers stretched asleep on the straw. The red light 
fell, also, upon the passing faces and costumes of 
all the Mediterranean nations assembled in this 
mart of commerce — lighting up the swarthy fea- 
tures of the Turk, and making still redder the 
red cap of the Greek — reflected back from the 
flashing eyes of the Italian, and the ivory mouth 
of the African — casting a gleam, now upon the 
muffled face of the Spaniard, now upon the half- 
veiled brows of the Arab, and now upon the un- 
unbonneted head of the Marseillaise. On strol- 
ling through the principal promenades and listen- 
ing to the prevailing tone of conversation, one 
would have said that the picturesque illumination 
had satisfactorily atoned for the loss of a republic. 



Yl. 

HOW TO KILL A DAY AT MARSEILLES. 

Whoever makes up his mind to visit Spain 
should take special care not to get out of patience 
before arriving there ; because in t&t co^untiy' 
he will have need of a large supply of this'viffue." 
" No corre priesa, Senor /" is an Iberian saying 
which should be the frequent theme of his medi- 
tations. It saved me much vexation at Marseilles 
where I found that the Spanish steamer would 
not be ready for a start under a week or more 
after my arrival. 

One day, indeed, is enough for seeing all the 
glories of the ancient Massilia. To lie sure, 
there is the Cannebiere. And if, by chance, you 
have ever fallen in with a Marseillais, on his 
travels, he surely could not have talked iiv<^ niin- 



84 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

utes with you without asking if you had ever seen 
the Cannebiere. One should go all the way to 
Marseilles just to behold it. To have visited the 
Boulevards, the Rialto, the Corso, is not enough ; 
you must also " promenade yourself" on the Can- 
nebiere. The spacious avenue — the lofty lines 
of building — the hotels — the shops gorgeous 
with eastern merchandise — the grand quay, with 
its ships and sailors from every sea — the blended 
costumes of all nations — and the fair dames a,nd 
damsels of this southern heaven — voila ce que 
c'est que la Cannebiere. 

Well, here you are at last. The flattering 
torch-light of the preceding evening is extin- 
guished, and you look in broad day at the Can- 
nebiere. And what do you see ? You see a 
great bustle of barbarians and old salts and 
Sally Browns. You observe a great deal of 
ready-made clothing exposed for sale, and any 
number of tarpaulins hanging in the door-ways. 
You read all the ditties of the sea, set off with 
wood-cuts, each one penny, stuck in the shop 
windows. You meet shop-keepers, hucksters, 



THE CANNEBIERE. fi/S 

hotel ruDiiers, coach agents, valets de place out 
of place, courriers with pockets full of Milord's 
recommendations, beggars, Jews, Turks, and not 
one elegantly dressed body in a hundred. Such 
do you find to be this deplorable Cannebierc. 
Add a very bad smell whenever the wind hap- 
pens to blow from the port. Add the fleas you 
catch on the promenade. Add the odor of onion'* 
and garlic, which makes you anticipate your din- 
ner with suspicion, if not with horror. Add, in 
fact, a hotel where on mange — on ne dine pas. 

Disappointed, you make complaint to your 
Marseilles friend ; and he says to you, " Only 
stay here until the bathing and promenading sea- 
son commences on the Prado." Until spring, 
ma foi ! We will rather set off for Nice this very 
evening. Having once gone to that winter re- 
treat for a week, and remained six months, I can 
guaranty that a couple of days may be spent 
there satisfactorily at any season. 

One day is all that the traveller can possibly 
get rid of in Marseilles ; and to do that, he should 
idle the better part of it away on the heights 



86 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

crowned by the churcli of Notre Dame de la 
Gare. Spread out before and below him lies 
the beautiful bay, widening gracefully into the 
Gulf of Lyons. The gay flags of many nations, 
his own included, float from the shipping in the 
harbor; and the graceful lateen sails of the 
smaller craft dot with white or purple the blue 
expanse of the sea. On one side a low, winding 
beach stretches out an arm to enfold the bay, as 
if a bride ; on the other, high and jagged rocks 
of yellow limestone project, like volcanic peaks, 
out of the transparent waters. Some of these 
are crowned with forts and castles ; and on the 
top of one of them sits perched the romantic 
chateau of If. The town stands upon the mar- 
gin of the sea — the cream-colored stone of which 
it is built glowing in the bright sunlight. On 
the slopes which rise gradually up around it on 
all sides excepting the southern, until they final- 
ly join upon the higher and more distant moun- 
tain circle which stands between it and winter, 
peep out of orange groves and olive orchards, 
the bright cottages of tlie peasantry and the sum- 



BAY OF MARSEILLES. 87 

mer retreats of the merchants. Over all hangs a 
firmament of cloudless blue, with which the vari- 
ous tints of the sea, the mountains and the olive- 
trees finely harmonize. 

And if you linger until the day goes down, 
you may see the whole landscape transfigured. 
The sinking orb will change the mountains to 
purple ; the rocks of the coast will turn to red ; 
and the thousand windows of the city will be in 
a blaze. Gilded by the level rays, the bay be- 
comes transmuted into molten gold ; and the 
azure, retiring to the zenith, gives up more than 
half the heavens to the gorgeous hues which float 
one upon another above the horizon. 

Thus may one* spend an October or even a 
winter day, strolling over the rocks, or reclining 
in grassy nooks ; and intoxicated with breathing 
the genial air of the soutli, where he has just ar- 
rived, may find the hours of the day run out, ere 
he is ready to turn away from scenes so fair. 



yii. 

TAKING NICE IN THE WAY. 

But we are off for Nice — in fact, have already 
arrived ! We will take rooms in the garden 
house of the Hotel des Etrangers. The higher 
up we go, the finer the prospect. From these 
upper windows behold the scene ! The roses 
climb almost all the way up to us from the gar- 
den below ; beneath us lies the town ; yonder is 
the sea ; and westward is spread out the cam- 
pagna, even to the capes of France. Quelle 
belle vue ! 

But sit down by this window, and I will tell 
you something about Nice, and how to live in it. 
As for the town itself, it is a place where the 
foreign invalid may die of consumption, as well 
as elsewhere. The natives die in it of the same 



HEIGHTS OF CIMELLA. 89 

complaint, likewise. The seeker after health, 
therefore, as well as the lover of fine scenery, 
should build his nest on the heights of Cimella, 
which rise at a little distance back of the town, 
and pleasantly overlook it. No man coughs on 
Cimella. Few men die there. The old Romans, 
who had an instinctive sense for sites, who knew 
as well as tlie temple-haunting martlet where the 
air was delicate, they built there. 

Observe the situation of the town. It lies on 
the margin of the Mediterranean ; and is divided 
by a torrent which, formed by numerous rivu- 
lets from the neighboring mountains, finally flows 
a shallow but rapid stream through the gradually 
expanding valley. Close around this narrow 
delta stand the hills, rising higher and higher in 
the distance, until they shut in the horizon on all 
sides, excepting that to tlie sea. How snugly 
the town lies at the feet of its Alpine protectors, 
which exclude the north. How warm the win- 
ter's suns stream into this nest in the mountains, 
and are reflected from the golden beech-sands. 
Far off, the blasts beat against the northern de- 



90 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

clivities : but their force is broken by the moun- 
tain barriers. Here, on this side, the south wind 
softly blows in from the sea. The air is full of 
light. One feels as though human life were here 
in a haven, free from all perils ; and where the 
flow of time would be as imperceptible as the 
tides of the Mediterranean. Thus easily did I 
myself once ride at anchor here for half a year. ~ 
One day, you must know, I saw a very pretty 
foot in Nice ! It was on Montalbano. I had 
strolled leisurely up to the gardens after break- 
fast, book in hand. Here and there, I had 
stopped to lean over the mural rampart and gaze 
down upon the busy movement of the little harbor 
below — smoking my morning's cigar the while. 
I watched with idle interest the lading and unla- 
ding of the argosies, the dipping of the boatmen's 
oars, the scarcely perceptible motion of the lateen 
sail-boats, the coming into port of some puffing 
little steamer, the floating on the horizon of 
specks of canvass spread for Genoa or Leghorn. 
Lighting a second cigar, I continued on my spiral 
way to the summit. As, however, I came to 



MONTALBANO. 91 

where tlie spruce is planted, I threw it away, 
thinking the air more fragrant without tlie tobac- 
co. Still further on, the violet borders enabled 
me to continue of the same mind. Here I sat 
me down to enjoy at my ease this more natur- 
al and more delicious fragrance. As the sun 
streamed down upon the flowery bank, it seemed 
as thougli Nature were here burning in a thou- 
sand cups frankincense and myrrh sweeter far 
than that swung out of the censers of the priests. 
I caught up a few drops from the rivulet to wash 
from my lips the stain of the tobacco. I think 
I even made a vow ever afterward to keep my- 
self pure from the weed. 

I opened my book — and laid it down again 
by my side. The scene was too lovely for 
reading. I preferred to pluck an overhang- 
ing orange blossom, and quietly pull to pieces 
its inner mysteries. Next, a buzzing honey- 
bee attracted my attention. Being in a mor- 
alizing mood, I set myself to contrasting his 
busy life with mine ; and was fast coming to tlie 
conclusion that he had been created expressly to 



92 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

rouse the conscience of a bachelor, when br.z ! 
the little imp flew up within an inch of my nose, 
and then went off in a bee line to a neighboring 
bower of myrtles. Taking his brushing across 
my eyes as a hint that I had better come after 
him, if I wished to find something to make my 
life as sweet as his, I followed the little rascal 
with my eyes. 

Just at that moment, out of the myrtles was 
thrust a lady's foot ! I immediately gave up the 
bee, and turned my attention to the foot. A very 
pretty foot. To whom did it belong ? It could 
not be an Englishwoman's, else it would be more 
heavily booted. The owner of it could not be a 
German — the member was too small for that 
supposition. It might belong to a Spaniard, but 
then tlie shoe would not be so well made. For 
the same reason it could not be an Italian's. 
That shoe was made on the Boulevards, I'll bet 
my hat ! And the wearer of it is a Parisienne, 
I'll stake my all on it ! 

Thereupon, taking my glass from my eye, I 
said to myself, " Young man, you arc shot !" 



A PRETTY FOOT. 93 

In truth, the foot had gone to my heart. It 
was such a one as I had not before seen in Nice. 
It must have just arrived. Who was the lady — 
what was her name — whore was she living — 
and how should I make her acquainta,nce ? 

Here, if I had had a pinch of snuff, I should 
have taken it ; for no satisfactory answer seemed 
to come to any of these questions. 

Thereupon, it occurred to me that if after 
having studied comparative anatomy a whole 
semestre at Paris, I could not make out from 
that foot who the lady was, I might as well tlirow 
my new edition of Cuvier behind the back-log. 
Given the foot, what's the color of her eyes ? 
That is the question. Is she married or unmar- 
ried ? What's her disposition ? Where in town 
is she residing ? And how long is she to be 
here ? 

As I begun to study these questions, the little 
foot began to pat the ground. Ah, how daintily. 
Pat ! pat ! I thought I should go distracted. 

My hat again that her eyes are blue ! She's a 
blonde. Auburn hair. Blue ribbons to her bon- 



94 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

net. Wears a scarf. Carries a fan. Either I 
have no knowledge of feet, or that lady is gentle- 
hearted. She is no blue, her stocking being of 
undeniable white. The foot is not girded for 
travel — a clear indication that she is in town for 
six months. But what puzzles me is the tie. 
That gives me pause. All my former observa- 
tions of shoe-strings must go for nothing, if that 
lady has not left a husband behind her in Paris. 

Not a doubt of it — 'tis a case for friendship 
only, and the affection Platonic. What a pity. 
Such a pure blonde, and just sufficiently 7mg'nonne 
for love. Not after the Powers' model of women 
— not strapping ; but like the Medicean Yenus, 
of the size to drive one mad. 

There I sat — the foot sometimes withdrawn 
behind the myrtles, and then again well extend- 
ed. Though distressed at the thought that both 
foot and owner had been conveyed away by mar- 
riage contract to another, still I said we might 
be friends together ; and in fact, before rising 
from my seat I had come to the firm conclusion 
that my acquaintance with the fair unknown, 



A PIC-NIC. 95 

though commencing with her foot, would be still 
more delightful the farther it was carried. We 
would be the very best friends in the world. We 
would come up here every morning. We would 
go to La fontana del tempio, or to 11 vallone 
osciiro, every afternoon. Our Nicean life should 
be a perpetual stroll and pic-nic. > 

That day week, had you- been in Nice, you 
would have been invited to join our party to Villa 
Franca. It was, indeed, a merry cavalcade, 
as we sallied out of the court-yard of the hotel de 
Londres. We were all upon donkeys. 

"All upon donkeys — 
Gee-up and gee-ho !" 

The children, being the most impatient, led off. 
Others gave chase. The donkey-boys ran after, 
beating with their sticks the air instead of the 
legs of their coursers, who, being well fed and 
willing, set off with unprecedented enthusiasm. 
My belle Frangaise had stuck a purple lilac with 
its green leaves in her straw hat ; and the violets 
I had given her she had fastened on her breast. 
Through the streets at a smart trot ; and out of 



96 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

the town gates at almost a gallop. Now boys 
take your beasts. We will walk up this hill ; 
and don't let us see you again until we reach the 
summit. But if anybody chooses to ride, in 
heaven's name let him do it. Each shall go at 
his own sweet will. Only let every hungry and 
thirsty soul be in at the opening of the baskets. 

Through olive-orchards, through plantations 
of fig and orange, through vine-fields, through 
flower-gardens and rose-hedges, wound our way. 
How often did we break off discourse to look 
back upon a prospect fairer than that seen by 
the wife of Lot. We sat down and plucked 
flowers from this bank ; we drew a bucket of 
water from that well. Our songs were added to 
those of the birds over-head ; and our laugh and 
halloo echoed from hill-side to hill-side. ' On 
every hand the landscape smiled ; and in the 
heavens the sun ran his race like a strong man 
rejoicing. 

He had nearly reached his zenith, ere we our 
summit. Then came the lunch ; the spreading 
of napkins on the greensward ; the unpacking of 



A SIESTA. - 97 

baskets ; the drawing of corks. By my troth, 
all that goes to help out wonderfully the romance 
of the mountains. But were ever children so 
famished ? Had we all been keeping fast for a 
fortnight ? I will thank you for a cut of that 
chicken. Just a drop to lielp me swallow it. 
One would have said that you needed nothing to 
wash it down any faster. True — but then bread, 
meat, and wine go together like any trinity or 
triumvirate. And now are ye all done ? Then, 
call in the donkey-boys. The rogues — they will 
pick these bones cleaner than would so many 
foxes. If one may judge by the way in which 
they fall to, they will make no bones of a whole 
basket-full of fragments. How their young cheeks 
stick out ; their jaws are as quick as steel-traps ; 
aad their big black eyes run over with joy, as if 
with champaigne moussu. 

How glorious this wide-awake siesta under the 
spreading beech-tree 1 A sense of calm content 
and unobstructed joy pervades the soul of a man 
after a luncheon which he has climbed a moun- 
tain for. As he reclines against the ancient tree- 

5 



98 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

roots, the zephyrs come softly out of heaven to 
kiss his temples. He is at perfect peace with 
his stomach and with all mankind. The valley 
beneath his feet is to him a happy valley, like nnto 
the vale of Rasselas, prince of Abyssinia. The 
bay beyond lies before his eyes spread out like a 
summer sea of pure delight, and its islands are 
as fair as the fortunate isles, fabled in story. 
Day-dreams, the most gorgeous, are spun out by 
his nimble-fingered fancy, until at last sweet 
sleep steals in unawares, and claims for itself the 
few remaining moments of the noon-tide hour-t 
Near by, the donkeys sleep too. Their drivers 
also lie supine with faces in the sun, and basking 
like snakes. Luckily, the children are out of 
hearing, though not of sight, sailing boats and 
chips on a mimic lake. Not a word is spoken ; 
not a sound is heard, except the occasional turn- 
ing of a leaf, as my Frangaise, on the other side 
of the tree, roves through the pages of some 
summer book. 

Heigh ! ho ! donkey-boys. Ho ! for Villa 
Franca. Quickly we are all in the saddle ; and 



VILLA FRANCA. 99 

away we go down the mountain side as for a 
wager, and who can go fastest. Villa Franca, 
and the inn by the sea ! "We will order our din- 
ner, and then fish up the first course of it, stand- 
ing in our balcony. Or who will, may seat him- 
self in the boat which lies moored to the house- 
door, and cast his line for ortolans, or sea-dates, 
dattolas di mare, over the stern-board. 

How lighter than a fancy sits the shallop on 
the water — and as unreal as any dream ! We 
push off into deep water, my belle Francaise and I. 
Yet how transparent are the green depths ; how 
distinctly we discern the shells and pebbles on 
the bottom ; and what homes for mermaids to 
hide in are furnished by these groves of marine 
plants. As in air, so in water the range of the 
eye is here doubled. We follow the fish gambol- 
ling together through their liquid play-grounds ; 
and see the glorious niblile ere we feel it. 

Capital place this for sea-bathing. One might 
rise from his bed of a summer morning, and at 
a bound plunge from his balcony into the depths 
of the sea. It would wake him ud most effectu- 



100 COS AS DE ESPA^A. 

ally, such a plunge. And then how refreshing- 
after the night's repose to lave one's limbs in the 
salt sea water. Just as the sun gains the mount- 
ain top, and pours the purple flush of morning 
wide over the surface of the glassy bay, is the 
hour for it, as for matins. Ablutions performed 
at such a time always seem to me a sort of half- 
sacrament. 

Shall we then pass the summer here ? Shall 
we keep a yacht, and explore these bays and 
bights, these grottoes and caverns ? Many a 
headland and mountain spur it would be pleasant 
to climb ; many a sea-washed town, and tower 
rising o'er the steep, to visit. Often would we 
round the beautiful peninsula of Sant' Ospizio, 
formerly colonized by the Moors ; we would 
chase the dolphins off Monaco ; we would climb 
the rock of Esa where the Corsairs had their city 
of refuge ; and on Sundays we would say our 
prayers in the chapel of the stalactite cave. 
Palms of the east, and the stone-pine, so beloved 
of Claude, would shade our cottage. The prickly 
pear and American aloe, would make us hedges. 



A GARDEN. 101 

In our garden would bloom the primrose, though 
it loves not Italy, the sweet violet, the jessamines, 
the anemonies, scarlet, pink, and purple. We 
should glory in rhododendrons, oleanders, and 
plane-trees ; in cork-trees, evergreen oaks and 
cypresses. We would live on our own dates and 
pomegranates. The fig here is luscious. The 
grapes burst with sweetness. The wine of San 
Lorenzo has all the secret virtues of that of Cy- 
press. We would catch our own ortolans ; and 
partake daily of the mytilus lithophagns^ at fifty 
livres the dish. Or failing that, we would dine 
on pollen ta and the roasted chestnuts of the peas- 
antry. What say you to a summer cottage in 

II hoi paese, 
Che I'Appeniii 'ptirte, e '1 mnr 'ciiconde e '1 Alpe ? 

Returning to town, we reached the summit just 
as the sun was sinking behind the distant head- 
lands of the coast of France. As purple as any 
isles that float in the Grecian archipelago, or off 
Afric's tropic coasts, lay the rocky shores of this 
Mare Ligusticum. Tlie Mediterranean, far off to 
where the Corsican mountains loom on the hori- 



102 COSAS DE ESPAJV'A. 

zon, gleamed as a sea of molten glass, with tints 
Bohemian. The rugged momitains were red as 
rubies. Tasso's description of a sunrise in the 
Secchia Rapita would well apply to this sunset. 

Tremalavono i rai del sol iiasceiite 

Sovra I'onde del mar purpuree e d'oro ; 

E ill veste di zaffiro il ciel rideiite 

Specchiar parea le sue bellezzo in lorn. 

But vain the pen. Only the pencil could paint 
this beatification of nature. Only the imagination 
can conceive how soft and radiant shone the light 
shed from the new moon's crescent through the 
the transparent twilight ; or the heart describe 
the influences cast by that evening star. Alas, 
that such an eve should ever have an end ! 

To-day to Yilla Franca ; to-morrow to the 
orange cottage. Indeed, I think I must have 
preferred the latter, as I went thither much the 
oftener. If there were no other special rendez- 
vous for the day, we always went to the cottage. 
It was agreed upon all round ; and each knew 
where to find the other by a sympatheti'c instinct 
which superseded the necessity of formal appoint- 
ments. To the cottage tlie way had tliis ad van- 



THE ORANGE COTTAGE. 108 

tage that it took us more across-lots, and through 
private orchards and gardens, where we had 
leave to pass. Well was the wliolo troupe of us 
known to the gardeners, and many a franc did 
we leave behind in exchange for flowers. These, 
on our arrival at our rendezvous, made an occu- 
pation for the ladies frequently during half the 
morning. The art of arranging them was made 
a study as well as an amusement. The most 
pleasing combinations of form and color were 
sought for as earnestly as if we had all been 
flower-painters. Where should stand the lily, 
and where should we plant the rose ? Where 
would the carnations best display their many- 
colored charms ; and in what nook of the moun- 
tain of flowers should nestle the sweet-smelling 
verbenas ? An argument was lield on every leaf 
and petal. Each favorite flower had its advo^ 
cates. The place of a hare-bell was decided by 
a majority of voices. And the beauty of it was 
that, when our bouquet was finished, there were 
to be no signs of argumentation about it. The 
art was to be gone ; and you were to swear that. 



104 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

by a happy conceit of nature, the well-combined 
colors had thus grown out of the earth together. 
And yet I would sometimes say to myself, inaud- 
ibly, that the simple bud or two worn in a cer- 
tain person's hair, or the pair of pinks nestling 
at her heart, were more effective than all our 
flower-mountains, though undeniably of the most 
delectable. Sometimes our fancy would run en- 
tirely on wreaths ; and then we all sat together 
crowned like the divinities on high Olympus. 
Or we bound the children's heads with orange 
blossoms ; though it was hard keeping them in 
place. They soon ran their flowers off. The 
paths were strewn with fallen pinks and roses. 
The grass-plot was purple with violets. 

Then it would do your heart good to see our 
garlanded cherubs drink the newly-drawn milk. 
With big staring eyes they look at you over their 
pitcher rims, and devour with long-suppressed 
breath the life-giving beverage. This is mainly 
why we frequent the cottage. For it is cheering 
day by day to see the young cheeks grow red 
and rounder. Let them drink their fill. For 



BOX-HEDGES. 105 

my part, 1 ^vill cat oranges. This is my morn- 
ing's labor. Happily I need no solaces ; but 
were I a sad man ; were I at all " hipped," 
crossed in love or indiscreetly married ; Avere I 
nursing a pet dyspepsia, or in the mood for a 
jaundice ; were I out of pocket and out of friends 
and out of occupation ; this should be my conso- 
lation — I would come up here and eat oranges. 

We all sit on the box-hedges. ' Never was a 
spring-seat so cunningly contrived by the uphol- 
sterers. Never was there such play to a couch 
as to this. With every movement of your person 
there is a gentle give and rebound. You feel as 
buoyant as soap-bubbles. The leaves of the box 
are soft to your back ; the thousand springy little 
twigs bear you bravely up on their shoulders; 
while the strong stems below are as firm as four 
posts and mahogany. Surely, never was a head 
more softly pillowed on lap or .feathers. You 
shut your eyes, and imagine yourself floating off 
on a summer cloud. You open them, and gaze 
up into the green depths of the foliage. Here 

and there the sun's rays streaming in gild the 

5* 



106 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

polished leaf-surfaces. Here and there, beUveen 
the branches, are disclosed bits of the oA-erhang- 
ing blue. The bees softly hum in the blossoms. 
The fruit, green or golden, weighs down the 
branches. There you lie, waiting the falling of 
the yellow orbs from out their leafy heaven ; and 
as one after another, heavy with ripened juices, 
they drop off their weary stems, with open mouth 
you catch tlieni ! 

0, traveller ! seek out tliis cottage, you can 
not mistake it, though not set down in the guide- 
books. Only avoid all the paths that are 
straight ; and go up through the olive-orchards 
zig-zag ; not following your nose too closely ; but 
roving on fancy-free. That's the gate. Either 
the flower-girl or the orange-boy is waiting to 
open it for you. Come and go as you list. And 
be sure your coming in and your going out will 
be with salutations as good as benedictions. 

Or, perhaps, you prefer going with me this 
morning up to the monastery on the heights of 
San' Andrea ! Come on then. On foot ; on 
horseback ; or in carriage — as you will. I must 



san' andrka. 107 

confess, however, that generally I prefer paying 
a visit to these brothers on foot and alone. I 
like to go up to their mountain near the close of 
day, and most when in the mood serious. There 
is a padre there who knows me well. Many a 
time have we walkjed the garden-paths together 
at fall of day, discussing the solemn themes of 
our holy religion. The learning of the ancient 
doctors of the law — the former triumphs of the 
cross — the beauty of the sacred rites and ser- 
vices — the wisdom, the beneficence, the far-"" 
reaching dominion of Mother Church — on these 
and kindred themes would the enthusiastic padre 
discourse until the twilight faded out of the west, 
and 4hQ convent towers grew pale in the autum- 
nal moonlight. At other times our conversation 
would take less of the moon's serious cast, and 
more of the warm tints of the sunset. Even the 
purple glow of the clusters we occasionally broke 
from the overhanging vines sometimes seemed 
rellected in our talk of Italian art and Roman 
letters. The padre was well read in both Horace 
and Petrarch. He also told a good story. And 



108 COSxVS DE ESP AN A. 

what was more, he was endowed with as splendid 
a set of teeth as ever shamed the elephant with 
all his ivory ; and whether it was to get an op- 
portunity of showing them off to advantage, or 
whether he wished to enchant me with his beam- 
ing eyes, often would he stop short in mid-path, 
and looking me full in the face, recite Dante by 
the page, or the sweet nnmbers of the later 
poets. His voice was bewitchingly musical ; and 
the verses ran over his lips like the dropping of 
the honey-comb. 

" Come in, my son," would the good padre 
finally say, " come in, and break with me the 
long day's fast." Then the frugal table would 
be spread ; and brother Giacomo would be called 
in. He was a genial brother too; but his dis- 
course shone mostly at the board. I preferred 
to walk the garden with Alfonso. It was always 
with him that I stood leaning over the balustrade 
at the end of the grounds, looking far down the 
dizzy height upon the road wliich wound below, 
and surveying the graceful sweep of the valley 
from whereit issued from the mountains to where 



THE PADRES. 100 

it was terminated by the curved sea-beach. On 
the lower declivities were scattered the pictur- 
esque cottages of tlie vinedressers ; and on the 
distant shore stood the gay-roofed town of Nice. 
The high-placed monastery seemed to be near to 
heaven ; and could one ha,vc caught a glimpse of 
tlie trees of life that shade its golden portals, 
they could scarcely have excelled in beauty the 
two evergreen oaks which kept their guard of 
peace before San' Andrea's gates. 

But, as I was saying, within doors Giacomo 
was my man. He was equally good at a feast 
as a fast — to say the least. His voice was a 
grand organ foi* the paternosters and the vesper 
hymns ; but he could also sing you a good song : 
a good soug in the very best Latin of the middle 
ages, or in the laughing verse of times less strict- 
ly ecclesiastical. As you called, so he sang. 
At the monastery, of course, I asked only for the 
chants of tlie church, and the magniloquent 
Latin of the Yulgate ; but when Giacomo came 
to my cell on Cimella, no lady's lattice o)i the 
Yalencian shore, or in Andalusia's vales, ever 



110 rOSAS DE ESPANA. 

listened to a tenderer plaint of love than was 
breathed from the musical breast of that good 
padre. He seemed to know the classic songs of 
every land, having been in his youth an enthusi- 
astic collector of national melodies. 

I gave Giacomo a glass of my best wine ; but 
I must confess that it came far short of his. The 
flasks he produced must, I think, have been from 
a few left over from the preceding century, and 
one less enlightened than the present as to the 
policy of letting good liquors go down to poster- 
ity. Or they might possibly have come from the 
store of some son of the church who in his final 
hour had had the good sense to secure the pray- 
ers of the friars of San' Andrea, not only by a 
devise of lands and chattels, but by throwing in 
a few bottles of his best Nizza. But whether the 
lips of the good man's intercessors were wet to 
any purpose or not, mine certainly were the bet- 
ter for the legacy. The hearts of the padres also 
overflowed, even more than their bowls. Not 
that the holy men were at all " lifted." Far 
from getting to slapping each other profanely 



SLEEPING IN A MONASTERY. Ill 

across the I)ack, they simply hiid their hands 
with a little additional emphasis upon their 
breasts. It was no more than a slight mellowing 
of the soul, and a freer flow of wit. Alfonso's 
eyes shone with a still purer water, and his ivory 
smiled with, if possible, a brighter radiance. 
Giacomo's voice dropped down to a sub-base a 
little nearer to the muttering of the gathering 
tempest, or ran dallying up among the gay semi- 
quavers of the high tenore. 

Once, on an emergency, I was obliged to accept 
the hospitality of a vacant cell for the night. 
And I am happy to say that my experience must 
go to prove that one might be less well off in 
Italy than sleeping on good wine and a peaceful 
conscience under the roof of a monastery. The 
mattress may be thin; the boards unbending. 
But cloister air is favorable for sleeping ; and, 
as I found, for dreaming too. In my sleep I saw 
nothing l)ut beautiful Madonnas and very sweet- 
faced angels looking down Avith interest upon 
me. Little plump, rosy-cheeked cherubs, for all 
the world like so many Cupids, wore flying about 



112 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

on the low ceiling, and climbing playfully up and 
down the bed-posts. In one corner of the room 
stood a capacious, high-backed arm-chair, prob- 
ably a gift-oifering, and the only article of furni- 
ture which looked at all unclerical ; and in it, all 
night long, as often as my dreamy eyes were 
turned that way, sat roguish Friar Puck, his fin- 
ger on his nose, making faces at me. 

As the bell rang for matins, I awoke as com- 
pletely mystified as if I had been sleeping at the 
foot of Jacob's ladder. I think Griacomo and 
Queen Mab were leagued together to play me 
tricks. Certain visions passed that night before 
my eyes, whether shut or open I can not precisely 
say, so charming, I would barter all my earthly 
hopes to make them realities. But — 'tis time 
to return to Marseilles. 



YIIl. 

TO SEA IN A SPANISH SHIP. 

Barca, the father of Hannibal — Barcino. Be- 
hold the origin of the name of tlie steamer which 
was destined to convey me to the Spains. Hav- 
ing duly obtained leave of the Marseilles police, 
the American consul, and his worship, the Span- 
ish consul, to take so grave a step, I engaged a 
berth in this good Spanish ship, rather than run 
the risk of offending the national pride of my 
Barcelona friends by arriving in a French one. 
Had there been an American vessel, by the by, 
running in opposition to the others, it would have 
been still more imprudent to have given it the 
preference, for the difficulties between the gov- 
ernments of Spain and the United States, growing 
out of the Lopez buccaneering expedition against 



114 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

Caba, were then unsettled. I had even been 
warned at Marseilles that in the exasperated 
state of the public mind beyond the Pyrenees, a 
Yankee might be welcomed there with hands 
which the next moment would be cold from the 
steel of the stiletto. However, naught alarmed 
by the advice of men whose minds were excited 
by the perils of a threatened insarrection at 
home, I paid down my hard Spanish dollars ; 
and to all warnings gave for my only reply — 

Carlos Stuardo soi, 
Que siendo amor mi guia, 

Al ciel de Espafia voi, 
For ver mi estrella, Maria. 

An explanatory word, at the outset, respecting 
the cosas de EspaTia. They are the strange 
things of Spain, which, being utterly incompre- 
hensible by foreigners, are never even attempted 
to l3e"^pTamea to tliem by the natives. Should 
a stranger imprudently seek to pry into one of 
them, he would get in return merely a long string 
of polite circumlocutions and repetitions of words, 
the substance and end of which would be, that 



STARTING BY DAYLIGHT. 115 

t]ie matter in question was a cosa de Espaha; 
and that was all which could be said about it. 

Now the traveller can not take tlie first step 
toward thi s land of w himsicalities without en- 
countering a cosa. After I had paid for my pas- 
sage on board the Barcino, I was informed tliat 
we sliould leave the next morning at daylight. 
At davliQ:ht ! Now what, in the name of common 
sense, thought I, could be the reason for compel- 
ling the passengers to turn out on a December 
morning at an hour so uncomfortable — and that, 
in order to go on board a ship wliich showed by 
the number of the revolutions of her paddles per 
minute that she v/as not in the least possible 
hurry to reach the point of her destination — 
and that, moreover, in order to go to a country 
where, as the reader already knows or will here- 
after be fully informed, time is of no sort of ac- 
count whatever, and especially the time whicli is 
spent in journeying ! I did not presume to ask 
for an explanation. But the one which occurred 
to me was, that the Spaniard having been accus- 
tomed from time immemorial to take the road at 



116 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

break of day, in order to save himself and liis ass 
from the midday heats, he could not think of so 
far changing old established habit as to set out 
even by steamer at any other hour. 

Knowing the thousand causes of delay incident 
to all Spanish expeditions, I had, in truth, not 
much faith to believe that we should get off be- 
fore noon ; but not wishing to run any risk of 
being left behind, I thought the best thing to be 
done was to go on board over night, and get such 
sleep in the narrow cabin as fortune should send 
me. I accordingly did so. 

It is a strange sensation — that which comes 
over one when being rowed down the harbor of 
Marseilles at night. • It was getting toward mid- 
night as I stepped into the heavy barge which 
was to convey me to the steamer at the bottom 
of the harbor. Four sailors in the red caps and 
brown jackets of Spain were at the oars ; and 
a steersman, with a face dark as Charon's, sat 
muffled in his capote at the helm. Had I been 
going to cross the Styx, I could not have chosen 
a better hour or man. As I glided down the 



HARBOR OF MARSEILLES. 117 

harbor, almost as narrow and well filled as a 
dock, no noise broke the stillness of the night, 
save that of the slowly dipping oars. The use of 
fire being prohibited within the port, not a single 
sliip-light was seen burning froni deck or cabin. 
Only the stars shone upon my pathway, and were 
reflected in long lines of light from the glassy 
surface of the sea. The big, black hulks, half- 
buried in the darkness of the night, seemed to be 
sleeping on the silent waters. For once, a sense 
of desolateness, which will sometimes overtake 
the solitary traveller — a regret — a vague feeling 
of dread even, was rising in my breast, when all 
at once the similarity of the scene recalled to my 
recollection the pleasant summer nights spent 
years before on the lagoons of Venice. There 
was a resemblance, yet how great the contrast. 
For instead of the light gondola, and the song of 
the gay-throated Italian, I had now a cumbrous 
barge with a helmsman as silent and motionless 
as a spectre. Instead of gliding along between 
banks of palaces, with pillar and cornice, wall 
and window, urn and statue, shining in the moon- 



118 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

beams, I was stealing away between a double 
row of black, half-defined masses which lay like 
monsters brooding on the deep. Instead of the 
passing and repassing of'pleasnre boats, freighted 
with frolic or with love, I was ploughing a 
solitary furrow through a silent sea, meet- 
ing no adventures, and looking forward to no 
greetings. 

But the recalling of the more pleasing Vene- 
tian scene was soon interrupted by the arrival of 
the boat alongside the steamer. I aroused my- 
self from my revery just long enough to climb 
the ship's side — to give a thought to Saint 
Ferdinand — and to throw myself into my berth. 

It was not until the Barcino had been several 
hours on her way that I made my appearance on 
deck the next day. And judge of my surprise 
on observing that we were then streaming directly 
past the entrance to the harbor of Marseilles. I 
rubbed my eyes ; I rubbed my glass ; but could 
make nothing else of it. Then, seeing the cap- 
tain standing near me, I went up to him, and 
asked him what the deuce the Barcino had been 



DON QUIXOTE. 119 

about for the last three or four hours. To which, 
as it may have seemed to him, very strange ques- 
tion, he quietly replied that we had been running 
down the coast to the port of — 1 forget the 
name — to get a bill of health. Going half the 
way to Italy, said I to myself, in order to procure 
a bill of health for a port in Spain ! What can 
that mean ? Luckily, an instant's reflection sug- 
gested to me that this was cosa^ number U'i^i, 
So I spared myself the mortification, and the 
captain the indignity of another inquiry. Calmly 
turning away, I congratulated myself with the 
reflection that a bill of health was undoubtedly a 
good thing ; and remembering that there was an 
extra charge of several francs on my passage- 
ticket for this same bill of health, I had also the 
satisfaction of knowing that I had got what was 
bargained for. 

Excepting this voyage down the eastern coast 
of France, the day wore away without any sort 
of an adventure — and that, 'notwithstanding 
the ship's cabin doors were ornamented with 
pictures of the exploits of Don Quixote. On 



120 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

mine was painted the scene where the gallant 
knight attacked his host's pig-skins. In his shirt- 
tails, and the innkeeper's greasy nightcap, with 
his good blade in hand, and his eyes hurling dag- 
gers at the fancied giant Micomicon, he was rip- 
ping up the innocent wine-bags, which hung un- 
suspectingly on the walls of his bed-room. The 
red fluid, which, to the astonished eyes of Sancho 
Panza, was the blood of the giant, but which to 
those of the indignant host, was his own fruity, 
full-bodied and high-colored Yaldepenas, was 
gushing from the fatal gash, and streaming a 
copious current to the floor. Alas, what waste 
of courage — and what waste of wine ! But even 
upon so sad a sight, it_ was some relief to look in 
the intervals of jea-sickness. And before leaving 
the ship, there had sprung up in my mind such a 
sympathy for the Don on my cabin door that, like 
travellers who go about pilfering chips from the 
tables of the illustrious dead, or stones and mor- 
tar from their tombs, I was more or less tempted 
to cut out the precious panel and pocket it. Had 
I done so, what a capital coat-of-arms I should 



GARLIC. 121 

have had for my coach, in case I ever camo to 
set up one ! 

Everything, I repeat, went on aboard-ship as 
naturally and as reasonably as if instead of going 
to Spain, I had been bound to any other Chris- 
tian country. I should therefore have retired at 
night poorly satisfied with my first day's adven- 
tures, but for the enjoyment all the day long of 
one plra riurc, prrub'nrf3r-Pipninir>h.._T^iTfrr to the 
smell of garlic. Th is pervaded the whole ship, 
and must have perfumed the surrounding sea-air 
for as many leagues as do the odoriferous gales 
which blow off the coast of Mozambique or Araby. 
The privilege of inhaling it was as free as the air 
it sd strongly qualified ; and was about the only 
agrement of the voyage which did not find a 
place in the steward's bills. At dinner, however, 
it operated as too much of a good thing. It was 
the drop of excess. Something I must have been 
forced into muttering to myself at table about the 
odoriferous bulb — something about every dish 
of tlie dinner being seasoned with it ; for a Span- 
ish gentleman sitting by my side, who by some 

6 



122 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

extraordinary chance happened to speak English, 
very politely informed me in my own languag^e 
that I was mistaken — that there was no garlic 
in any dish on the table, excepting the hare-stew 
— and that my error had arisen from the circum- 
stance that the cook and waiters kept themselves 
constantly ruhhed in it. 

The night, indeed, had its little incident ; for 
in the course of it, I scraped acquaintance with 
my first Spanish flea. The previous night, as the 
ship was lying in French waters, he was off duty, 
flirting no doubt with the grisettes of Marseilles, 
and did not therefore come across me. But he 
now seemed eager to embrace the earliest oppor- 
tunity of flying into my arms, and making my 
personal acquaintance. I found him a very lively 
little person, as capering as a Frenchman, and 
not at all affecting the stately, measured move- 
ment of a full-blooded hidalgo. As he wore his 
face muffled by the cloak of night, 1 could not 
get a sight of his features, but have the impres- 
sion that he must have had a decidedly hungry 
look. At any rate, he proceeded to attack the 



A FLEA. 123 

banquet I had spread out before him with an ap- 
petite such as his countrymen are always happy 
to bring to your entertainment, but which you 
rarely have an opportunity of displaying at theirs. 
But after he had enjoyed the satisfaction of 
drinking my healtli several times, I made some 
remark, accompanied by some movement, which 
he took in ill part ; and, thereupon, very abruptly 
quit my company. 

On going on deck next morning, I found the 
steamer off Mataro, and, running down one of the 
fairest coasts, washed by any sea or ocean. A 
range of low mountains stretched away to the 
south parallel with the shore, and so close upon 
it as to leave but a narrow fringe of level land 
between. At one extremity of this lip of shore 
stood Mataro ; and on the other, just visible in 
the distance, the city of Barcelona. Between 
them lay a large number of smaller towns, con- 
nected by what a year or two ago was the only 
railway in Spain. The brown mountain-sides 
were terraced ; and in summer, they are draped 
with a green scarf of vineyards. Less gay in 



124 . cos AS DE ESPAPfA. 

winter, they nevertheless presented a clieerful ap- 
pearance ; for, besides the numerous towns lying 
at the foot of the mountains, I counted some doz- 
ens of villages, together with a great number of 
hamlets nestled in the higher valleys or perched 
on the lower hill-tops. These, looking all to the 
south and east, were lit up, when. I saw them, by 
the rising morn, and shone on their back-ground 
of brown earth like gems on. the purple of a queen. 
Beyond the mountains of the shore was to be seen 
the over-topping edge of more distant ranges, 
clad in snow — thus making a line of white to 
link the darker foreground of the earth with the 
beautiful azure of the unclouded sky. This scene 
beheld from a sea, on whose polished surface lay 
reflected all the magnificence of both sky and 
shore, furnished my first view of the del de Es- 
pana — the " heaven of the Spains." 



IX. 

THREE DAYS OF QUARANTINE. 

In the noontide of a day, as sunny as if it had 
been summer, we dropped anchor in the harbor 
of Barcelona. Enchanted with tlie sight of shores 
so fair, I liurried my " traps" together, and was 
going to call a boat alongside for the purpose of 
disembarking at the earliest possible moment, 
when tlie captain, observing my intentions, called 
out, " No cor re priesa^ &/7or." 

" There's no hurry — what do you mean ?" 

" I mean to say you can't go ashore, sir. 
Three days of quarantine." 

" Three days of quarantine ! ! ! But haven't 
we got a cleaji bill of health — a bill of health 
we went half the way to Italy after — a bill of 
health duly paid and receipted?" 



126 COSAS DE ESP ANA. 

" All very true, sir ; and your bill of health takes 
off two days from the quarantine. Do you see 
that English coaler yonder ? He's thirty days 
from Newcastle ; and he has to ride out a quaran- 
tine of five notwithstanding." 

^' Bravo ! Newcastle is in the enjoyment of 
the best of health ; Marseilles never was in sound- 
er condition; there is not a single infectious dis- 
ease prevailing on the shores of the Mediterra- 
nean, or even the Atlantic ocean; and yet the 
commerce of the whole civilized world is quaran- 
tined from three to five days at Barcelona ! Only 
answer me this one question : loliy then did we 
leave Marseilles at daybreak ?^^ 

But here was another cosa. Of course, I got 
no explanations. Nor could I afterward get any 
— unless it was that the detention of vessels an- 
swered the purpose of increasing the port-charges ; 
or furnished greater facilities for smuggling ; or 
enabled the government at Madrid to cripple the 
commerce of the rival capital of Catalonia. How- 
ever this may be, I did not then waste much time 
in reflecting upon the matter, but hastened down 



THE PORT-DOCTORS. 127 

stairs ; took to ray berth ; and there, by dint of 
frequent shifting from one side to the other, I 
reached the third day — day of grace and pardon 
for having presumed, being in full health of body, 
if not of mind, and having a bill of the same duly 
paid in my pocket, to enact such a stupid piece 
of knight-errantry, as to come to the dominions 
of her Most Catholic Majesty ! 

At an early hour of the third day — no plague 
nor pestilence having broken out among the ship's 
passengers, though strong signs of a famine had 
begun to show themselves in the steward's de- 
partment, where little was left beyond an inex- 
haustible supply of garlic — our term of bondage 
was declared to be fniished, and we were sum- 
moned on deck to pass through the formalities of 
manumission. After an hour or two of still fur- 
ther delay, the doctor's boat was at last spied 
slowly pulling otf to the steamer. The doctor 
leisurely picking a late breakfast out of his teeth, 
lounged up the gangway ; and having comforta- 
bly posted himself against the railing of the poop- 
deck, as well as braced himself up with his offi- 



128 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

cial walking-stick, gave orders that the whole 
posse of us should be made to pass in review 
before his worship. He was dressed, I observed, 
in the rusty old clothes of Dr. Sangrado. But 
how many pulses he may have timed — how many 
tongues he may have ordered out — how many 
ribs he may have felt of — I know not. Being 
among the first to '^ pass muster," I can only say 
that he neither looked down my throat, nor felt 
of my teeth ; but that giving me the benefit of a 
rather knowing squint out of his left eye, he at 
once pronounced me a fit subject for disembarka- 
tion. The examination was as good a farce as 
you may see in Spain even. In truth, how could 
a Spanish port-doctor, who had ever inspected 
his own person, or the persons of Spanish sailors, 
the greater part of whom are black enough with 
dirt and sun to be sent to prison in South Caro- 
lina as free negroes, how could he cast out of the 
country as unclean any foreigner in the daily use 
of soap and 'water? The thing is a small ab- 
surdity. But before I could have time to 
make this or any other reflection, I was over 



PULLING ASHORE. 129 

the sliip's side, into the boat, and had a rag- 
ged barbarian of the country pulling me ashore 
as for dear life — though in fact for the sum 
of four pesetas. 

6* 



X. 

THE LANDING. 

The distance from ship to shore was consider- 
able. I had, therefore, ample time to compose 
my mind, slightly ruffled as it was by the annoy- 
ances of the quarantine ; and in the exercise of 
perfect good will toward all Spaniards, was about 
to take peaceable possession of the shore, when I 
was met at the water's edge by a hostile army 
drawn up for battle. It consisted of a small host 
of what in any other country would pass for rag- 
amuffins, but who were here called porters. The 
moment my foot touched the shore, the enemy 
rushed upon me, together with a Frenchman whom 
chance made my ally for the moment, and com- 
pletely surrounded us. Spirited as the French 
are in an attack, it is well known that they make 



A FIGHT. 131 

a poor defence. My experience in this particu- 
lar case confirmed the truth of the general im- 
pression respecting them. The fat travelling 
merchant, for such he was, did not stand his 
ground so well as even I did, and was absolutely 
borne ofi' his feet in triumpli by the enemy. 

But after their easy success against us, they 
immediately fell to loggerheads among themselves 
over their booty. While one of the scoundrels 
had succeeded in throwing my trunk, and another 
my bag over his slioulders, two others were tug- 
ging at each end of my umbrella, and other two 
were having a regular stand-up figh^ over my 
hat-box. Taking advantage of this contention, I 
escaped to a slight eminence, whence I could sur- 
vey tlic fray below. In the midst of the crowd 
was the fat Frenchman struggling for dear life, 
and his still dearer parcels, of which he had a 
md'st embarrassing number. All told, boxes and 
packages, they might amount to well-nigh a doz- 
en ; and every one of them, besides life and limbs, 
was in imminent peril. There he was, poor fel- 
low I can not say, but fat fellow, his hat carried 



132 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

ojff among the spoils of war, and himself jamftied 
into the centre of as beggarly a platoon of ras- 
cals as ever got together under the nostrils of a 
gentleman. He vociferated, gesticulated, and I 
am afraid he swore. I certainly saw him seize 
one poor devil by the collar ; and he was so over- 
excited that he seemed to be in danger every 
moment of going off in a fit of apoplexy. 

But at length the rage of battle subsided. The 
commis-voyageur succeeded in making a treaty 
with the victors, agreeing to give on both his ac- 
count and mine such a sum as on subdivision 
would yieid to each beggar of them a small hand- 
ful of reals. This amount paid, though some still 
clamored for more gratificacioncitas , he eventu- 
ally got a release ; but came out of the crowd, a 
sight to behold, puffing and perspiring like a 
patient from the feather-beds of a water-cure. 

Having at last ransomed ourselves and effects 
out of the hands of these Philistines, we were 
both piled up with bag and baggage in the inte- 
rior of an omnibus. It was one of those which 
Noah had made use of in going into the ark, and 



CUSTOMHOUSES. 133 

still had more or less of the mud of the first flood 
about it. In this vehicle we had to run two lines 
of customhouses before getting admittance to the 
city. The first was passed with tolerable success. 
By simply standing a little aloof*, and keeping 
perfectly cool, I managed to have my trunk over- 
looked in the examination of the luggage ; but 
my companion, whose nerves, never strong, had 
just before been unduJy excited, got at once into 
a fluster, and* was not let ofl* until after all his 
wares had been most faithfully ransacked. On 
reaching the second line, we were driven into a 
courtyard where, as it next to never rains in this 
part of the world, was accumulated the dust of 
all the feet of all the sinners who had ever en- 
tered Barcelona. And the moment after our en- 
trance a set of sweeps, well instructed, no doubt, 
in this part of their duty, began to raise such a 
dust in the four corners of the enclosure, that my 
travelling merchant, who, besides having a diffi- 
culty in Ills breathing, had a collection of pat- 
terns which would suffer more from exposure 
in such an atmosphere than even his mucous 



134 cos AS DE ESPANA, 

membrane, began immediately to curse and swear, 
and almost to wish himself back among the 
porters. 

As he had voluntarily assumed the office of 
paymaster-general until our arrival at the hotel, 
I resolved to let him take his own course, and 
see how he would get us out of this second scrape. 
This time he resorted to his pockets. He fum- 
bled long before getting hold of a five-franc 
piece ; but when he did, he thrust it into the 
sleeve of the official with force enough to send it 
half-way up to his shoulder. At the same instant 
he shouted to the coachman to crack his whip; 
and in another we cleared the gates at a bound. 

Our driver turned out to be a veritable Jehu. 
He played his lash around the long ears of his 
animals with the adroitness of an expert. He 
shouted to his leaders, calling each by name: — 
"Go it, Gil-^go it, Sancho." And all this 
while he was rattling us over a pavement which 
had been laid down by the Phenicians, and never 
mended since. The result was that the French- 
man, who had never einbarked on such a sea of 



A NATIVK co.\rn. 185 

troubles before, was in less than five minutes cas- 
cading out of the window. At tlie same time his 
boxes, no less disturbed tlian their owner, were 
leaping about the carriage like so many frogs. 
At the end of some ten minutes, however, we 
pulled up, all standing, in front of the hotel. 
Before alighting, ray fellow-traveller proceeded 
to examine his legs and the small of his back, to 
see if he were in a condition to move from his 
seat. But finding all his bones safe and sound, 
though his shirt-collar was badly broken down 
by the perspiration which flowed at every pore, 
he descended. I, who, in all things, let him 
take the lead, followed his example. On enter- 
ing the house, however, I found that, like a true 
Frenclunau, he had brought me to an inn kept 
by one of his own countrymen. But as I had not 
come to Spain to keep company with its mortal 
enemies, I at once decided to seek a lodging else- 
where. So after paying the half of all charges, 
I bade him good morning, and drove to a Fonda, 
where I could have my stews seasoned by a na- 
tive-born Spaniard. 



136 COSAS DB espaNa. 

" One hundred sous, Sehor,^'' said the 'bus- 
man, pushing away from his forehead a long red 
cap, which hung down his back nearly to his but- 
tock. One hundred sous, said I to myself, for 
being driven to town by a fellow in a cap like 
that ! A fellow in a sheepskin jacket, and an 
absolutely unmentionable pair of short-clothes ! 
One hundred sous for the use and enjoyment of 
such a wretched piece of joinery as was the fel- 
low's vehicle ; for the service of mules in ropes, 
and spavined " worse than ever was Rosinante ; 
for the pleasure of being taken over a pavement 
utteidy dislocated, and so nearly fatal to my spi- 
nal marrow ! The demand seemed to me extor- 
tionate. Having been long accustomed to the 
two-franc fees of the Parisian cabmen, and con- 
sidering that I had been paraded into town in a 
mere 'bus, I had made up my mind to forty sous 
— with ten more to be added for the circum- 
stance of being in Spain. However, thinking 
that I would, at least, get some amusement out 
of tlie fellow before paying his fee, I resolved to 
try my Spanish on him. Accordingly I entered 



"ONE HUNDRED SOUS, SENIOR." 137 

upon a semi-serious argument with my claimant 
of the hundred sous, and was apparently making 
out something of a case in my favor, when I very 
imprudently alluded to my experience in Paris, 
where for forty sous one may drive from one end 
of the city to the other in a cab and two. Now 
in arguing with a Spaniard, nothing is so ill ad- 
vised as any comparison drawn between his coun- 
try and France, to the advantage of the latter. 
Accordingly, no sooner had I got the words out 
of my mouth than my little man, drawing himself 
up as high as he could get — which was not more 
than five feet two — and cracking his cap like a 
whip-lash, immediately replied : — '' Fifty sous 
may do for Paris ^ Senor ; but they ivonH ansvjer 
for Barcelona !^^ 

or course, after being so fairly floored in the 
argument, I had nothing to do but strike my flag. 
I did so most cheerfully — paid my money — and 
entered upon a new" scene of adventure in enter- 
ing my first Spanish Fonda. 



XL 

MY ROOMS AT THE FONDA. 

The Fonda del Grande Oriente, at Barcelona, 
was formerly a monastery. Little else, however, 
than its strong stone walls, enclosing a quadran- 
gular court, and its low-arched corridors, running 
around the four inner sides of the building, and 
furnishing on each of the five stories a long and 
spacious promenade, now remains of the original 
edifice. Still the air of good cheer, which in 
earlier days must have reigned in its refectories, 
continues to linger in its halls. As of old, its 
cellars are well supplied with the liquid which is 
red in the cup ; its larder is fat with good Span- 
ish pork and poultry ; and its inmates, from land- 
lord to boot-cleaner, retain a good degree of the 
rubicund rotundity of the ancient priesthood. 



MINE HOST. 189 

As, for tlie first time, I walked thoughtfully up 
the broad and well-worn stones of the stairway, 
so suited by its gentle ascent to the weary feet 
of the well-loaded mendicant, or the heavy foot- 
steps of the short-winded father confessor, I said 
to myself: You have come to Spain just half a 
century too late. The publicans have supplanted 
the priests ; and instead of the old hospitality of 
monk and hermit, which was paid for in charities, 
you will now have to sit at meat with travellers' 
and shiners, at a daily cost of thirty-five reals. 

I was somewliat disappointed to perceive, as I 
did at a glance, tliat mine host of the Oriente was 
no Spaniard. Like most of the better landlords 
of this part of the country, he was a native of 
Italy. But though foreign born, both he and liis 
household were in the country bred, and had 
taken so kindly and naturally to all good Span- 
ish ways, that his ollas were the envy of all lov- 
ers of hare in Barcelona. 

With many bows, I was ushered into the best 
rooms vacant ; and in the face of so much polite- 
ness on the part of my host, I could not think of 



140 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

being so nncourteous as to turn up my nose at his 
accommodations. Bva^ native,__a ccugtom edto 
travel with bed and board at Ms, backj the apart- 
ments would^have be§n.Jh.Qjxgh4^prJiLcaixX_illiLi2- 
me, coming from a civilized country, they seomod 
but holes in the wall. However, I politely lim- 
ited my objections to the rooms to inquiring if 
there were any others at the moment unoccupied. 
The landlord's reply was, that he had others, but 
'none so worthy of my acceptance. I therefore 
prudently made a virtue of necessity —besides a 
civil bow to my host, in return for a very large 
number of his own — and took possession. 

The door of my apartment, which opened into 
the corridor, was without a latch. It had, how- 
ever, a lock strong enough to resist a catapult. 
In case of an insurrection, then believed by many 
persons to be imminent, the lock and hinges of 
that good stout door, thought I, would be capable 
of doing me some service. I should have my 
barricade ready made at my hand. It had, be- 
sides, a certain monastic look, in harmony with 
the thick walls and low aisles of the once sacred 



BATHING. 141 

edifice. At lirst sight, I felt a degree of respect 
for it ; and liave no doubt but what it will con- 
tinue to swing on its rusty hinges as long as the 
Spanish world stands. 

There was no bathing tub anj^vhere to be seen; 
but there was the possibility of ablution. For in 
one corner, concealed by a curtain, stood the 
slenderest of stands, supporting the narrowest of 
basins. I should be able, at least, to wash one 
eye open at once in it. But in a country so much 
better provided with wine than it is with water, 
— an d in a country where even the hig:hest dn.rjrtf„^ 
are said m erely to rub their faces with a jnoist 
napkin instead of laving them — wliat more could 
be expected ? T should have been thought as 
crazy as he of La Mancha to have found fault 
wdth such arrangements. 

As for the bed, it was clean — and that is say- 
ing a great deal in this country. The Spaniard 
is not accustomed to stretching himself on the 
soft pile of delights which is built up for his neigh- 
bor, the Frenchman. When he travels, he often 
has to* content himself with the stone floors of 



142 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

Veritas and Posadas ; nor is lie always a great 
deal better off when he stays at home. His rug- 
ged country could ill supply the enormous sacks 
of down or feathers beneath which your German 
sleeps off the fumes of his beer, and seeks to 
sweat down the thick tallow of his kidneys. In 
Spain the traveller, accordingly, must be ready 
to curl himself up in straw with the same satis- 
faction with which, in his own country, he lies 
down to his repose in purple and fine linen. If 
even in the large towns he finds his mattress thin, 
he' should nevertheless return thanks that it is 
not a board. My bed, therefore, escaped without 
too close an inspection. I had only one fear in 
entering it ; and that I am bound in justice to 
the country to say, turned out to be utterly 
groundless. 

The floor was laid in tiles ; but it was tolerably 
well covered by a carpet. Yet not the purple 
rug which is spread in Turkish bed-chambers; 
nor the soft, velvety tapestry of English boudoirs ; 
but a mat woven of the canes of Spain. A simi- 
lar one hung rolled up above the windows on the 



BRAZIERS. 143 

external wall of the house. This served to shield 
the room from the hot rays of summer ; while, 
within, a simple white muslin curtain sufficed to 
keep out the cold of winter. There were, indeed, 
windows and sliutters besides ; but so ill con- 
trived, so full of original and acquired defects 
that they afforded not a great deal more protec- 
tion than the open muslin. 

But among so many cracks and air-holes, thoie 
was not that one, the presence of w^hich would 
have counterbalanced all tlie others. There was 
no fire-place ! There was none in any of the 
rooms. There w^as none short of the kitclien. 
And what is more, there was but one, as I after- 
ward learned, in the whole town of Barcelona. 
That had been set up by an Englishman, of 
course. Still, there are two methods for warm- 
ing apartments in this part of the world. One is 
by sun-light, and the other by a pan of coals. 
The former is the more agreeg,ble and the more 
conducive to health. But the latter must be re- 
sorted to in cases of extremity and days of dark- 
ness. In the morning, I used to see several pans 



144 ' COSAS DE ESPANA. 

being prepared by the servants in the court. 
They are filled with a superior kind of charcoal, 
which is fanned and stirred until the coals are so 
completely ignited as to cease giving off smoke. 
After having stood long enough to cover them- 
selves with a white film of ashes, they are brought 
in, and set in the middle of the room. There the 
pan stands without being disturbed all the morn- 
ing. At dinner-time, it is stirred up, so as to 
bring the bottom coals to the surface. Then it 
will continue to give off a moderate degree of 
heat until late in the evening. These fires are 
never allowed to remain through the night in 
sleeping rooms, but are not thought injurious to 
health during the day. Still, I observed that 
they would soon give a foreigner the headache ; 
and vfere it not for the cracks and crannies of 
their apartments, must long since have killed off 
all the natives. Whoever then goes to Barce- 
lona in winter, must make up his mind to sit 
sometimes over the pan of coals . As his feather- 
bed has not more than a couple of inches of thick- 
ness, he can not, like poor Goldsmith, crawl into 



PAN OF COALS. 145 

that to get warm ; nor, however romantic it may 
be to sit out an evening in the chimney-corner of 
a country venta, will he find himself exactly at 
his ease among the flesh-pots and stew-pans of a 
city kitchen. 



Xll. 

MY BALCONY. 

But if there was no fireplace in my rooms, 

i n i,iii,i, j_j ■i ^ ii w i M IWi M M w ii . ii MLUUj iin L- '■' I I "" li^^iwiWiiM' W i Trm ii r ■" r" tuiiniiii,!!, ininm a i 

there was a balcony. A balcomr-Jn Spain ! 
What a charm in those words. With them are 
associated what tales of Andalusian love — what 
secret whisperings in the silent night between 
enamored souls — what sighing of soft, blue-rib- 
boned guitars^ and voices which_melt with ten- 
derness or rave with jealousy ! Let the traveller 
by all means put off his first visit to his balcony 
until evening. Then when the stars are shining 
in the sky, or the new moon reflects from her sil- 
ver horn a light not strong enough to discounte- 
nance love, let him step out upon that spot of 
enchantment. The flowers ranged around the 
railing, while they half conceal his person, wrap 



GUITARS. 147 

his .senses in delicious odors. Thence he sees 
the muffled lover Avatcliing beneath some neigh- 
boring window. He hears the tinkling of a near 
guitar. He thinks he hears an opening shutter. 
He imagines he has cauglit a glimpse of a white 
mantilla. Again he listens. Voices float by on 
the softly breathing zephyrs of the night — now 
like to the trenil)liug accents of a fffst affc(5tioTi 
— now rescmblinji,- tiic deep-toned notes of impa- 
tient ]nis>ion. Tlicre is a witchery in the air. 
His own heart gradually catches contagion from 
the universal love. And, at last, his head com- 
pletely turned, he can resist no longer. Mastered 
by a passion like that which sent the hero of La 
Mancha out upon his expeditions of knight-errant- 
ry, he rushes to his bed — abstracts the cord — 
ties a ladder — and swinging himself from bal- 
cony to balcony, goes in quest of a Dulciiiea over 
half the town ! 

I unfortunately could not so far restrain my 
impatience as to wait for the evening. The mo- 
ment I had finished my toilette, I went to the 
balcony. It was the hour of the promenade ; and 



148 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

the street upon which my windows opened was 
the famous E-ambla. This resembles the Unter 
den Linden of Berlin ; and, like that, has a spa- 
cious foot-walk in the centre, flanked on either 
side by carriage-ways. Rows of shade-trees in- 
termingled with shrubbery perpetually green, and 
even in mid-winter in full flower, separate the 
central from the side, avenues. These last are 
bounded by two lines, nearly a mile in length, of 
palaces, colleges, theatres, public offices, monas- 
teries now converted into hotels, and private 
mansion-houses. All are either bright with mar- 
ble, or gay with frescoes. Running through the 
centre of the city from gate to gate, this broad 
avenue is ever filled with entertainment for the 
observer of men and manners. At one extrem- 
ity of it he will meet the gay throng of pleasure's 
votaries' ; while at the other, he will find himself 
among beggars and laborers standing idle in the 
market-place. Here, may be seen groups of 
merchants " on 'change" well wrapped in cloaks 
of broadcloth ; there, collections of gipsy horse- 
jockeys clad in sheepskins. On this side, are 



PROMENADING. 149 

markets for the sale of fruits, the golden orange 
and the purple fig ; on the other are stalls where 
pretty payesas are busy weaving the gayest of 
winter bouquets. It is a world in miniature — 
with the representatives of every grade of life, 
of all ages, and of different nations. And as 
work in this country has very much the appear- 
ance of idleness in others — at least those of the 
north — the costumes of business are more pictur- 
esque than the adornments of pleasure elsewhere. 
Thewhole scene wears an air of festivity and 
gala. At least, so it seemed to me as I stood^ in 
my balcony looking down upon it for the first 
time. It was an entertainment for the eye more 
attractive than the shows of state or stage ; and 
what it was the first day I saw it, it continued to 
be every day of my residence in Barcelona. It 
was my play-house, to which I resorted by day- 
light. For actors I had the plumed officer and 
the cowled priest, the white-gloved coxcomb and 
the veiled belle, boggar-boys who might have 
been transferred to the canvass of Murillo as they 
sat, and hidalgos standing with cloaks over their 



150 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

shoulders after the fashion of the Aristicles in the 
museum at Naples. It was my opera even ; for 
every day at twelve o'clock, a battalion of guards 
came dashing down the avenue, with banners 
waving, and music filling the air with pleasant 
revelry. Yet sometimes they came with slower 
step, beating on muffled drums the march of the 
dead, and bearing a comrade to the sepulchre. 
Or a company of white-robed nuns and sisters of 
charity went by, chanting the sweet hymns of the 
church ; or a procession of priests in inky cloak, 
and faces veiled in black, bearing with solemn 
song the sacramental wafer to dying lips. Half 
an hour before, the cheerful chimes were calling 
the city to thanksgiving and praise ; now they 
are tolling the slow knell of some poor soul going 
to its long home. So full of life, and of its con- 
trasts, is this Barcelonese Rambla. 



XIII. 

MY TABLE. 

Fascinating as may be siglit-seeiDg from a 
Spanish balcon}^ it does not necessarily prevent 
one's hearing the dinner bell. In tlie midst of 
my waking revery, tliis summons at once brought 
me to my senses. I obeyed its voice, and de- 
scended to the dining-hall. It was rather a 
small one, with painted walls, and a floor of stone 
partially covered with a mat. But what partic- 
ularly attracted my attention was a modern im- 
provement which had recently been introduced 
into it. This consisted, not in a stove, but a 
stove-pipe. It was the only thing I noticed in 
the room which had not apparently come down 
from an earlier age. True, its calibre was of the 
very smallest; but as it passed up through the 



152 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

floor to tlie ceiling on its way from the kitchen 
to the roof of the house, it took off tlie chill of 
the stone walls, and rendered the room much 
more comfortable than the larger dining-hall used 
in summer. The company assembled amounted 
to some five-and-twenty gentlemen and ladies, 
the majority of whom were Spaniards. 

Table dliote dinners are nearly the same thing 
in all the civilized parts of the continent. South 
of the Pyrenees, Jhej. are more remarkable for 
the number of the dishes than for their quality. 
In his lean country, the Spaniard can rarely get 
enough to eat. His pig-skin is generally toler- 
ably^ well filled ; but his larder is too often empty. 
The lower classes never taste meat — living ex- 
clusively on vegetables, fruit, and wine. There- 
fore your host goes generally for the main chance ; 
and thinks that if he can only give you a plenti- 
ful dinner, you will be sure to think it a good 
one. As it is a mark of a poor man to eat ve- 
getable food, he shows his respect for a rich one 
by serving hrai almost entirely with animal. 
Besides soup and fish, you are treated to beef 



MEATS. 153 

boiled and beef roasted, to legs of mutton and 
joints of pork, to kid and wild boar, to hare and 
rabbit, to chickens and turkeys, to grouse and 
snipe. Not that all these dishes make their ap- 
pearance at every dinner ; but the number of 
courses is always great enough to render the en- 
tertainment gross and wearisome. As in all 
s outhern countries, the meats are of inferior qual- 
ity — excepting always the nut-fed pork. This 
surpasses even the flesh of the wild boar. If 
there be any truth in the. Italian saying that no 
man is fit to die until he has seen the bay of 
Naples, perhaps what the Spaniard says is no 
less true, that he ought first to taste a ham of the 
iUpujarras. But with this exception, I know of 
no kind of meat in the country for the sake 
of wliich one would at all care to defer his final 
hour. The poultry, though not bad, will not 
compare with that of France ; and the beef would 
pass in England for indifferent shoe-leather. The 
dried fritits are abundant rather than good. Yet 
the oranges from Malaga are well-flavored ; and 
the grapes of the country, which in some shel- 



154 COSAS DB ESPANA. 

tered vinej^ards near Barcelona are allowed to 
hang upon the vines until February, are truly 
delicious. 

A Spanish dinner, then, is decidedly a heavy 
affair. Luckily the stranger is rarely asked to 
dine out. The natives seem to be aware that the 
dinner is their weak point. They are sensitive 
about exhibiting the leanness of their larders. 
• The closeness with which a Caballero -picks his 
bones, and the frequency with which, even as in 
the days of Don Quixote, he is obliged to content 
himself with greens and garlic, are matters not 
to be made known out of the family. And then 
his desire, whenever he does go to the expense 
of buying flesh or fowl, to smother it in onions, 
stands directly in the way of the entertaining of 
strangers. For he knows very well that all for- 
eigners have looked upon his national dish with, 
a certain degree of suspicion ever since the day 
when Gil Bias supped on a cat. On no account, 
therefore, could he venture to set a stew under 
any nostril not native. 

In short, the culinary art is not well under- 



GARLIC. 155 

stood soutli of the Pyrenees. In half of the lar- 
ger hotels, your cook will turn out to be a Frencli 
or Italian refugee, a poor devil who has run his . >^ 
country, and who, having had at home more to do 
with politics than with pastry, has brought with 
him only a very imperfect knowledge of his art 
as practised in the kitchens of France and Italy. 
The greater number of his dishes will be bad im- 
itations of what you have eaten at Paris or 
Naples. As wlien jou go into the street, you see 
tlie French hat beginning to supplant the mantilla, 
and the French paletot the cloak ; or when you 
visit the theatre, you find the house, the music 
and the dancnig hoTonger Spanish, so at the din- 
ner-table you observe that the national taste is 
fast coming under the dominion of Joreign mas- 
ters in the culinary art. The Fondas are getting 
already to be ashamed of the oUa; and half a 
century hence the traveller will be ol)liged to de- 
scend to the ventorillo to get a taste of it. 

A word of advice to travellers respecting gar- 
lic. As Spanish cookery is nothing, if not a stew, 
and a stew is nothing, if not chiefly garlic, let 



156 COSAS DE espaNa. 

the foreigner make up his mind at once to like 
it. Let him eat it — if he can — without making 
up wry faces. For do what he will, this bulb 
will be thrust down his throat by every cook in 
the country — peaceably if he can, forcibly if he 
must. Every sauce-pan in the Peninsula smacks 
of it ; and no conceivable amount of scouring 
would suffice to take it out. Therefore make a 
virtue of necessity. Daily practice in the swal- 
lowing of the delicacy will Cnally make one per- 
fect in it. At lea:st, all travellers who do not 
object to frogs, cabbage, or tobacco, ought surely 
to be capable of learning to digest garlic. 

Set down, then, the olla podrida as a good 
thing. And there is one other in Spain. It is 
the chocolate. This is made with either water 
or milk ; and always so thick that a spoon will 
almost stand up in it. The great secret of ma- 
king this beverage, however, consists in knowing 
how to drink it. Taken after dinner, it would 
be an abomination — with the breakfast a lafour- 
chette^ it would be no better. It is a meal by it- 
self — the smallest cup of it. Accepting it as 



CHOCOLATE. 157 

such, setting apart a particular hour in the day 
for it, and giving it the honors of a regular and 
separate entertainment, you find this drink to be 
truly una de las delicias EspaTiolas. It is wor- 
thy of the fair lips which so dearly love and laud 
it. Hot, and foamy, and purple, it solaces the 
whole inner man. It satisfies at the same time 
the longings of the stomach and of the soul. 
But the early morning is the hour for this cup of 
consolation. When you have gotten your feet 
into your slippers, and have girded your dressing- 
gown around you, and have arranged the morn- 
ing's toilette — then, while the pleasant sun 
streams in at the open windows, and the morning 
air comes in to refresh your temples and regale 
your senses with the perfumes of the balcony — 
then as you throw yourself into the embrace of 
tlie capacious arm-chair, and open book or news- 
paper — then let your Hebe bring in the cup. A 
Spaniard will often have it handed to him by an 
old duenna while he is still in the sheets. Many 
a one can not get out of bed without help of it. 
He can not muster the courage, the force of will 



158 COSAS DE ESPAPJA. 

to raise his head from the pillow, until he feels in 
his vitals the working of his accustomed stimu- 
lus. But the other arrangement is much to be 
preferred. You gain thereby the great advan- 
tage of being served by the younger and prettier 
hands of one of Spain's dark maidens — the 
morning dew still sparkling on the rose-leaves in 
her hair. For my part, I always thought it gave 
a better flavor to the chocolate, though it might 
have been mere fancy. 

The only thing which may be taken with choc- 
olate is a very delicate biscuit — a mere nothing. 
Anything else is a profanation, and spoils the en- 
tertainment. If a man is hungry, let him wait 
for his breakfast — or, in troth, let him eat it. 
But at that hour he ought not to be under the 
dominion of a rabid appetite. He should have a 
season of tranquil thoughtfulness after rising from 
his couch. He should give a few fleeting mo- 
ments to the quiet enjoyment of the golden light 
and fragrant air of tlie Spanish morning. • The 
duties, the amusements, of the day are to be calm- 
ly forecasted. Perhaps the follies of a nig-^lit are 



BREAKFAST. IT) 9 

to be repented of. He has some theme to medi- 
tate — some scribbling- — letters — business. Let 
him drink his chocolate, and put oft* breakfasting 
till mid-day. 

Twelve o'clock is the latest hour for breakfast- 
ing a la fourcliette. For all good Spaniards are 
early up ; and they dine at five or tliereabouts. 
I speak of the higher classes. But as no travel- 
led man can breakfast anywhere satisfactorily 
out of Paris, it would not be of any use to de- 
scribe the Spanish performance. Itj_sj3iit.aj)qor_ 
second-handed affair. For it is an imitation 
of the tedious, many-coursed dejeuners of the 
south of France and the north of Italy. If you 
prefer to breakfast by yourself, as of course you 
do, you may order what you like — though you 
will not get it. The whole blessed day might be 
spent in calling for butter ; and the mozo would 
bring you oil. You might beg for cheese ; and 
he would give you a Dutch stone. You might 
order the lien-coop up, to watch with your own 
eyes the laying ; but the eggs would be stale by 
the time the cook had lioiled them. Tell him to 



160 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

serve you an omelette ; and unless you give him 
pesetas as well as eggs to make it with, it will 
prove to be a great deal whiter than the linen of 
either the cocinero who stirred, or of the mozo 
who served it. The yolks will have been all left 
out to make the dinner's custards, and you will 
breakfast on mere albumen. You decide to have 
beef-steaks — you have been accustomed to them 
at home. Good. An hour afterward — should 
you live so long — you proceed to draw your 
boots on, and find one of them stripped of the un- 
derleather. • Then you awake to the conviction 
that you have breakfasted on your own heel-taps — 
you have eaten your own sole ! 

Still, I will give you, male-reader, a secret 
piece of advice about these matters. First, sup- 
posing that you have adopted the plan of feeing 
the chef de cuisine one morning, and threatening 
• to take his life if he do not serve you better the 
next — then I say to you, order your beef-steaks 
to be done in onions. That is the way the na- 
tives manage. They smother them until the 
leathery taste is completely taken out; and tliey 



OMELETTES. 161 

have no idea at all of what they are eating. 
Serve your mutton-chops, the same way — only 
have them buried in mushrooms instead of onions. 
And if you insist on having an omelette for break- 
fast, and nothing will go right the whole day 
without it — 'vvhy, then, there is only one abso- 
lutely certain course that can be pursued. What 
a man does himself in any country, he may know 
to be well done. Therefore, not to beat the eggs 
and slice in the truf&es with your own hands, see 
it done at least with 3^our own eyes. Unless you 
actually stand over the cocinero with both eyes 
fixed upon him, he will be sure to whip the yolks 
out of the eggs, and to substitute giitta percha 
for truffles. And unless you dog the waiter's 
heels from the kitchen to the parlor, he will cer- 
tainly contrive on the way to exchange his pre- 
cious charge for an omelette rechaiiffee^ left over 
from the day before. But, if you will take these 
precautions, you may safely defy the cooks of 
all Christendom to produce any better omelettes 
than those made from Spanish eggs — and pese- 
tas. It is possible that the thing might be man- 



162 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

aged by your own private servant ; thoiigh I 
doubt it. 

The ordinary wine of Spain^is bad. Whoever 
goes to San Luca to drink the delicate Manza- 
nilla, or to Xerez to taste in the bodega of Pedro 
Domecq, the genuine Amontillado, will certainly 
get good Sherris-sack. But I very much fear 
that he will find it nowhere else in the country. 
The vino ordinario^ wdien new, is too sweet ; . 
when old, it is too rough. This is true of all the 
wines of Spain in common use. Of course, I ex- 
cept the sweet Muscadels and Malvoisies, the las 
lagrimas of Malaga, w^hich, though not fit to be 
used as a beverage, are delicious as cordials. 
This general defect arises probably not so much 
from the quality of the grapes, as from lack of 
pains in the manufacture of the juice. Wines, 
which might be made almost as good as those 
which are exported, are drank new, because 
there is not sufacient enterprise or wealth to 
store and keep them. The sherries which are 
drank in England and America are next to never 



PIG-SKINS. 163 

seen in Spain. The natives can not afford to 
pay the prices of them. 

As in his meat, so in his drhik, the Spaniard, 
provided he can get enough in quantity, is not 
very particular about the quality. Your mule- 
teer, when on his journeys he comes to a stream 
of water, wall lie down on his belly, and outdrink 
his beast; so, when at night-fall he reaches his 
inn, he wishes to sit down to an entire pig-skin. 
His countrymen all have the same disposition. 
They are afflicted with thirst as wdth a fever ; 
and they drink off their well-brimmed cups with- 
out stopping to criticise too closely their flavor. 
The Catalonian manages to swallow his wine 
without even taslino' it. He raises his leathern 
bottle with both hands — throws back his head — 
opens his mouth — and catches the " vinous para- 
bola," w^hich, issuing from an orifice a])out as 
large as the hole of a pipe-stem, passes directly 
from the neck of the bottle to that of the drinker. 
He is very expert at this trick of the porron; 
for, while a foreigner would be sure to inundate 
his nose and neckcloth, he never wastes a drop 



164 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

of the precious liquid. Tlie boy just weaned will 
do almost as well, and seems to go from the 
breast to the bottle by a natural instinct. The 
Catalonian draught is necessarily a long one. 
Having once had the curiosity to time it, I found 
in the case of a very old fogy that it occupied 
two minutes. Even then he appeared to stop 
drinking, not because his gullet was full, but be- 
cause his arms were weary. 

But although the Spaniard loves to squeeze his 
porron^ he does not drink to intoxication. This 
is a vice of the North, not of wine-growing coun- 
tries. On the first day of Lent, the Barcelonese 
— men, women and children — all go out to the 
neighboring village of Gracia to " bury the car- 
nival." Tliis means to eat and drink enough to 
last them through the whole fast season. Yet, 
whoever at nightfall should take up his position 
at the Puerta del Angel to witness the returning 
thousands, would probably fail of detecting one 
single instance of gross and manifest intoxication. 
The Barcelonese is proud of his sobriety, and 
looks upon drunkenness as a disgrace. 



XIY. 

THE RAMBLA AND THE MURALLA DE TIERRA. 

Barcelona is the city of promenades. Let 
all amateurs of the walk go there, and they will 
find opportunities for their favorite amusement 
unsurpassed by those of any town in Europe. 
First is the inimitable Rambla. Here are the 
principal hotels, the theatres, the cafes, the post- 
office, the college, the library, the ^lubs, the 
reading-rooms, the fruit and flower markets ; and 
here at different hours of the day, or in different 
parts of the walk, are to be met all classes and 
conditions of men, from hidalgos to gipsies, from 
Dulcineas to ragazzas. Even the day-laborers 
who take up their stand at certain points in the 
spacious avenue, add to its picturesqueness. Of 



166 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

these none are more noticeable than the white- 
washers, a group of whom may be seen at almost 
any hour at their particular rendezvous ; and 
whose long brushes rise in the air almost high 
enough to remind one of the masts in the great 
square of Venice. But picturesque as they are 
at a distance, on coming near enough to inspect 
their persons, one is tempted to suggest to them 
that they would do a very sensible thing if they 
would set to and whitewash one another. Yet 
whatever may be the condition of their persons,, 
their dress is always of the gayest. A white- 
washer's gambote, in which, during the winter 
months he stands wi^apped like a Roman in his 
toga, is bright with more colors — the red pre- 
dominating — than ever was Joseph's. A cloak 
by day, it is a blanket by night. It is wardrobe 
and bed-furniture ; mat and umbrella. He makes 
as much show with it as a peacock with his tail. 
And well may he be proud of it, for this and his 
brush constitute well nigh his earthly all. This 
winter cloak is worn by all the lower classes; 
and though used for all sorts of purposes, it must 



CATALANS. 1()7 

be acknowledged, to the credit of the wearers, 
that it generally has a clean look. The colors 
seem too bright to be susceptible of tarnish. 
Add to this universal garment a pair of breeches, 
which may be plush — a pair of leggings, which 
may be leathern — white hempen sandals- — and 
a brilliant kerchief twisted gayly around the 
brows — and you have before you that coxcomb 
of day-laborers, the Barcelonese. 

But he has a rival in the Catalan peasant, who 
comes in from the country. This fellow is all 
velvet. He is nothing if not tag and tassel. 
And yet he might better be described as a walk- 
ing pair of trousers. These come fully up to his 
armpits, reducing the length of his suspender to 
a span ; and they descend to his feet with such 
ample folds that, if inflated with gas, they would 
bear aloft the wearer as in a double balloon. 
His feet are in sandals ; his breast is covered 
with a short, richly-wrought vest ; a braided and 
buttoned jacket is thrown jauntily over his left 
shoulder ; and a long woollen g-orro, red as 
heart's blood, or purple as the dye of Tyre, 



168 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

either hangs down over one ear, or is folded re- 
gally up on the forehead. 

But more than bj the red gamhote of the hire- 
ling, or the dark velvets of the mountaineer, will 
the stranger's eye be attracted by the gay molados 
of the peasant-girls, and the unadorned heads of 
the town ragazzas. He will not fall in love in- 
deed with either of them— for they are just a 
hairbreadth too tall. To tell the truth, they 
border on the strapping. Not fitted to excite 
the passion of love in any but vulgar breasts, 
they are made to give suck to a half-gigantic race 
of hewers of wood and drawers of water. Still, 
if you look sharply enough, you will not fail of 
finding, here and there, a ragazza sufficiently 
picola to please your fancy, and to make the 
promenade graceful. . Unlike the maid of softer 
Andalusia, the Catalonian does not deck her hair 
with flowers. It is itself its . only ornament. 
Black, glossy, abundant, it needs no other adorn- 
ing. She wears her head uncovered by a veil. 
No mantilla graces her shoulders. Her robe is 
a simple calico. Only the large heavy Moorish 



A ra(;azza. 1G9 

ear-rings of amethyst or emerald set off her natur- 
al beauty, and prove her not destitute of the van- 
ity of a woman. You are half pleased. And, at 
last, when you observe how well she walks — how 
easily and modestly she carries herself; when 
you get a chance of seeing how well her shoe fits, 
and how neatly lier hand is gloved, you hesitate 
no longer. Buying the neatest bouquet at hand, 
you despatch the first errand-boy you meet with 
after the fair promenader, to present with your 
ofi'ering of flowers the humble and respectful com- 
pliments of an Estrang-ero. Of course, the thing 
is utterly absurd — or would be out of Spain ; but 
you don't think twice of it, and go on your way 
as if nothing had happened. 

But let us pass the gate and leave the town 
behind. As we cross by the draw-bridge beyond 
moat and mound, we find ourselves on the prom- 
enade of the Mil rail a de tierra — a broad belt of 
green lying between the walls and the open 
country. This is thrown like a scarf around 
the city, encircling it on all sides excepting 

that which looks to the sea It makes a 

8 



170 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

spacious promenade for both pedestrians and 
equestrians ; while outside of it runs a road 
for carriages. 

It is a winter morning ; but the sun shines 
warmly out of a cloudless sky upon a greensward 
decked with daisies, and upon broad fields of 
waving wheat beyond. As we wind up the hill 
to the overhanging fortress of Monjuich, how fair 
the scene ! Below us in the near distance the 
limestone-built town reflects the yellow sunlight. 
On one side it is washed by the blue Mediterra- 
nean, and on the other it is skirted by the green 
fields of the country. In the harbor rides at an- 
chor a small fleet of vessels. In the offing are 
seen a goodly number of sails bearing in for the 
port ; a government-steamer is running up the 
coast to look for smugglers ; and the fishing-boats 
which went oif at daybreak, are already bringing 
in their freights for the hour of dinner. If turn- 
ing from the pleasant sight of the sea, we look 
along the winding shore, we see it thickly settled 
with bright colored tov/ns and villages. Ham- 
lets innumerable and cits' boxes -hang suspended 



TO MONJUICH. 171 

half-way up tlie sides of the mountains, which 
here run parallel with the shore. And over the 
tops of the more distant ranges behind, hangs the 
white fringe of that mantle of snows which, now 
overspreads the North. 

Retracing our footsteps, we meet gentlemen 
prancing on Andalusian horses over the green ; 
we see companies of soldiers, both foot and horse, 
exercising on the broad parade-grounds ; we 
hear the roll of practising drummers ; and if we 
stop on our way too near the ramparts, we are 
ordered to move on by the sentinel stationed on 
tlie inner wall. Crowds of idlers arc attracted 
outside the gates to see the drill and listen to the 
music. Beggars, leaving their trade in town, 
come here to change the scene, and bask like 
vermin in the sunshine. Unemployed laborers 
come out to make a liolyday by sitting about in 
squads on the grass, or lying asleep on the sunny 
banks. And so gay and picturesque is the cos- 
tume of the lower classes, so graceful and easy 
are their attitudes, that wherever as many as 
three of them either sit or stand together, it 



1T2 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

makes a group worthy of being transferred to 
canvass. 

At the hour of noon many of them will be seen 
in places a little retired from town collected in 
families around their dinner. The earthen pot 
has been set up on three stones, and a few sticks 
and dried grape-vines have been placed under it 
to make the fire. At first the stranger wonders 
how anything could be cooked by the use of so 
little fuel ; but he soon learns that it is the sun 
which makes the pot boil in this country. At 
any rate, by twelve o'clock the dinner is always 
forthcoming. Cloaks are spread on the turf 
around the steaming tripod. The father reclines 
on his elbow ; the children lie and sit about in 
every conceivable posture which is not constrained 
or awkward. The mother serves on plates of 
tin the simple pot-luck. It is probably beans. 
If not that, it is a vegetable olla^ in which all 
kinds of greens are commingled. The sijbstance 
of it will be cabbage ; but the soul and relish of 
it is garlic. An enormous tortell loaf furnishes 
a supply of bread ; oil is the only additional con- 



A DINNER PARTY. 173 

diluent ; and wine takes tlie place of both meat 

and water. 

< 
The physiologists say the pure juice of the 

grape produces in. the animal economy the same 
ultimate effects as roast, beef. Napoleon's sol- 
diers, we know, made the tour of Europe on bis- 
cuit and brand}^ ; and these powerful Spanish 
frames are reared from wine and onions. One 
thing is certain, that the Catalonian is too poor 
to have his joint of meat at dinner ; and if he can 
get the same result from his bottle of vino ordi- 
nario, which costs him tuppence, it would be 
rather a hard case to bring him under any " tee- 
total" law. To take away his porron^ w^nild, in 
fact, l.)e taking the chicken out of his pot. Hovy- 
ever, the millennium of " total abstinence" not 
having yet dawned on the Spanish coasts, and 
being probably destined to bless only the brandy 
and whiskey latitudes, there is a prospect that 
the happy natives of these wdne-lands will con- 
tinue to sit for generations to come in the pleas- 
ant and, in their case, very innocent shade of 
their own vines and fig-trees. 



174 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

But before entering tlie town, let us survey this 
crowd outside the Puerta del Angel. It is a 
liackney-coach stand — if such carriages as these 
may be described by so dignified an appellation. 
Strictly speaking, they are two-wheeled carts, 
with a leathern cover to keep oif sun and rain, 
and an entrance from behind like an omnibus. 
They are drawn by one horse or mule, or by half 
a dozen of them, and generally with a good de- 
gree of speed. Indeed, they go altogether too 
fast for comfort. For the carriage being well 
nigh destitute of springs, and the roads being for 
the most part, as uneven as the waves of the sea, 
the passenger is most unmercifully jolted. The 
natives seem to like the fun of being so " knocked 
into cocked hats ;" and go gayly over the road 
at a pace which would make a jelly of a foreign- 
er. My advice is always to keep out of them. 
For now the dust is wheel-rim deep — just about 
as deep as the mud on the Boulevards when I 
left Paris; and after the first rain — should it 
ever rain again in Barcelona — what is now dust 
will be turned to still deeper mire. 



HACKNKY-COACH STAND. 175 

There are so many carriages on the station 
that the drivers of them, besides furnishing a cer- 
tain quota to sleep on their coach-boxes, and an- 
other to watch at the gate for passengers, lie 
about in such numbers as to cover half an acre 
of greensward. There they play at cards and 
coppers. They squeeze a bottle together or peel 
an onion. AVitli sunlight and a paper cigar 
they seem perfectly happy. Every one takes 
care to be ready for business when his turn comes, 
but until that time he is as independent as a 
beggar. The sunny day is never too long for 
him. If without work, he talks and sings. He 
cracks his whip. He trades horses. The sod 
is soft to his back ; and with his bright eyes, he 
can even look the noonday sun in the face with- 
out winking. Curling himself up in his faithful 
cloak, he sleeps the hours away, if he happens 
to be an old stager ; or wrapping it cavalierly 
around him, in case he is one of the b'hoys, he 
plays the gallant to the damsels who pass the 
gate. He may not earn us much money as his 
brother of Paris or London, but, surely, his is 



176 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

no harder lot. He does not wear out either 
himself or his beast with too much work ; nor 
ever dies a broken-down hack — the one or the 
other. 



XV. 

THE MURALLA DPZL MAR AND L0VE-3IAKING. 

The walks about the city of Barcelona, such 
as those through the Rambla, around the Muralla 
de tierra, to Monjuich, to the Cementerio, to Gra- 
cia, to the gardens of San Bcitran, to the foun- 
tains oi' Trubada, to the tor res y liuertas, and to 
the mountains, may be enjoyed eveiy hue day in 
winter — that is to say, every nine days out of 
ten. But to go to the Muralla del Mar, one 
must select a holyday. Then all the beauty and 
fasliion of the town will be there. The walk ex- 
tends a distance of more than a quarter of a mile 
in a straight line, and is built on a mural rampart 
which protects the town from the sea. Broad, 
level, and strewn with clean sand, it is a perfect 
pathway to the feet. Commanding a view of the 

harbor, open in winter to the sun, and cooled in 

8* 



178 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

summer by a breeze from the sea, no more lux- 
urious lounge could be devised for leisure — no 
fairer scene imagined for the display of beauty 
by sunlight. On some state occasions there is 
a morning reception at the palace of the captain- 
general, which is connected with the terrace ; 
and then bands of music play in the balconies, 
while the crowd passes to and fro beneath. On 
all high festival days the throng is very great. 
The walk is resplendent with silks and velvets 
of the most brilliant colors. The dark mantilla 
and the white veil are mingled with the gay hats 
of France. Flowers vie in the hair with bril- 
liants. The plumes of the officers blend with the 
feathers of the fair. The air flashes with epau- 
lettes and jewelry ; and a thousand glancing eyes 
add to the brilliancy of even Spanish sunlight. 
There, in a saloon roofed by the sky, and walled 
in on one side by palaces, and on the other by 
the sea, one pays his morning court to the stately 
dames and gentle daughters of Barcelona. He 
salutes his acquaintances, makes his visits — and 
loses his heart. 



MODES OF WOIISHIP. 179 

It is a peculiarity of Barcelonese manners, that 
the fashionable ladies never appear on this, their 
favorite promenade of the Muralla — rarely, in 
fact, are to be seen in the street at all — on any 
days not sacred to the memory of some eminent 
saint. But on all the high festivals of the church 
they always pass from the mass to the Muralla, 
They do not go to church to see and be seen, as 
i t is s ometimes said ladies do in Protestant coun- 
tries ; for they repair to the altar to pay their 
devotions, and aftoiward to the promenade to re- 
ceive them. The two modes of worship — not to 
say kinds ofi^Iatx^:;^arS„k.6£l_separate in Spain . 
Perhaps in the warmer Catholic climes there may 
be more frailties to compound for than in the cold 
Protestant North ; and the more exclusive appro- 
priation of the hour of public prayer to the duties 
of confession and penitence may be accounted for 
on a principle which will not compel us to ac- 
knowledge the inferiority of our own piety. 

Yet I must confess that I have nowhere been 
more impressed by lli^"~sorenTniiy Trf"6Mstian 
worship than iiitEe"'c!iurctiB^'of Spain. The 



180 COSAS DE ESPANA. • 

very edifices a,re devotional — I mean the interiors 
of the finest cathedrals. I will not undertake to 
say whether the light of divine truth be not shut 
out ; but in no churches is the day so religiously 
excluded. A solemn twilight pervades the lofty, 
long-drawn aisles. Burning tapers are necessary 
at noonday to dissipate in part the gloom which 
shrouds the dying Christ above the altar. The 
deeply stained glass of the windows admits just 
light enough to reveal its own gorgeousness ; and 
only through the painted dove in the ceiling 
streams a single ray of sunshine into the general 
obscurity, now falling upon the white-clad priests, 
and now lighting up a Murillo or a Yelasquez on 
the wall. The beau can not therefore ogle the 
belle half-way across the church ; and should he 
even be permitted to kneel on the same square 
of pavement, he will scarcely recognise the be- 
loved form, wrapped in the dark mantilla ; nor 
hope to exchange more than quite a limited num^ 
ber of glances with eyes veiled in such very long 
black lashes. 

But let us proceed with the throng from the 



DRESS. 1.^1 

church to the Miiralla. We shall there be 
able to see clearly the eyes of beauty beam- 
ing full upon us. The glorious sun will kiss 
away the penitential tear from off all cheeks. 
And tlie hand whicli could not be admired, 
nor even pressed with any sort of propriety 
in the consecrated shades, will now be revealed 
in all its fair proportions. Vamos — let us 
hasten. 

You are in white kids and patent leathers. 
Corriente — all is right. Now adjust your glass. 
Screw it firmly into your left eyebrow ; and make" 
it doubly secure by a well-set scowl which you 
have been so zealousy affecting since your arrival 
in Europe. Muy bien — that will do. Your 
cloak is thrown over your shoulder very grace- 
fully. But it is too warm this January day for 
that. Come out in blue and brass ; it is Spanish 
so to do. I see that you are fresh from Figaro. 
He has given you the last touch and pinch of his 
curling irons ; and every hair of your head is, as 
it should be, more or less started. Come on 
then. Give your moustache just one more twirl, 



182 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

and you may even pass for one of the nosotros — 
that is to say, ive ourselves, the Spaniards. 

And now that I have set you fairly on the 
Miiralla, Mr. Bachelor,-! leave you to your fate. 
The first persons you meet may be a couple of 
stately dames in velvets and laces, respecting 
whom you simply observe that they are fat enough 
to be sold to the grand Turk. In Barcelona, a 
lady is fat as^ su£@^,^^^jhe is forty. Do what she 
will — paint her face, dye her hair, roll her 
eyes, play her fan — her age can not be disguised ; 
it is measured by the length of the ribbon around 
her waist. Dawdling her time away in the house, 
where the customs of society, or the jealousy of 
her husband, condemii^Ji^^to speiid-Ji©r._d^^ 
and rarely taking the air except when she goes 
to church, or passes with mincing steps over the 
easy promenade, she almost invariably becomes 
with advancing age a couple of stone or so too 
stout. Smoking paper cigarettes, drinking sour 
lemonade, dressing with pulleys, blood-letting — 
all are unavailing preventives. Good, easy na- 
ture will distend, and gradually get plumpy, and 



OLD -MAID^. 188 

come to waddling. Fat and forty — 'tis the lot 
to which the slender maiden, whom you clasp in 
your arm as easily as a nosegay in your hand, 
looks forward as the certain end of earthly bliss 
and coquetry. Preas my hand quick, is, there- 
fore, the motto of her youth ; for she knows full 
well that after a few revolving Carnivals, the 
dear, dimpled little thing, with its rosy, tapering 
fingers, and nails of pink, will be laid up for ever 
in Number Eig-hts. 

Spanish nature admits of but one exception to 
this law of increment. The single spinster — 
Heaven help her I — who is now passing you with 
that look, half bashful, half imploring, is as 
scraggy as any of her cousins of the north. 
Whetlier it be by innumerable errands of charity, 
or of gossip, that she is so worn down to skin 
and bones ; whether it be in prayers for poor sin- 
ful souls, or from nursing her own melancholy, 
that s:ie has sighed her nose down to the sharp- 
ness of a knife-blade, is no business of mine to 
inquire. I simply state the fact as it came under 
my observation. But do what she will, it seems 



184 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

certain that neither beef nor Benicarlo will make 
her fat. Three thousand ducats — everything 
she has in the world, excepting her hand — would 
she give for a " pound of man's flesh." But ca- 
pricious nature, which bestows on tlie married 
dame more muscle than she can carry, gives to 
the single one scarcely enough to stand up with. 
There is no help for it. But, fortunately, there 
are only a few of this class in Spain. The Span- 
ish ladies, for reasons best known to themselves, 
always accept the first offer of marriage ; and 
by following this excellent rule, they rarely fail 
of getting husbands. It would, no doubt, be so 
in all countries — excepting, perhaps, England, 
where " old maids" are a social necessity, and 
part of the civil constitution. 

Bat look out! Ave Maria purisima ! There's 
a veritable senorita coming ! An Andalusian 
maid, and child of the sun. Valg-ame Dios ! How 
airily she comes gliding on ; and with what a 
dainty movement of the feet. No graceless hat 
covers her head. Only the rose is in her hair. 
A black mantilla falls over her shoulders. Her 



OGLING. 185 

waist is a chef cVoiuvre of art — her bosom of 
nature. And iu her little hand she is playing 
you her fan with a coquetry irresistible, fatal. 
All this you see at the very first glance, but 
as you get nearly abreast of her, the silken lash- 
es are raised ; and the large dark eyes are 
levelled full upon you. The sltaft goes to your 
heart. 

Now what do you propose to do ? There is 
but one thing to be done, considering the country 
vou ai'o in. You 02:le her. For the next fort- 
night you ogle her on the promenade, in the 
theatre, at the ball, any where you can find her. 
Perhaps even eight days will suffice ; for love is 
no laggard in those latitudes. At the end of 
that time, you slip your billet-doux into her hand 
as she is leaving the theatre. Or you may go on 
your knees to her duenna, if you prefer it. But, 
one way or ttio other, the thing is agreed upon 
between you. Night and hour are fixed. 

It is all plain sailing now. You have only to 
apply to the watchman, wlioF^e duty it is to go 
bawling out the hour of the night and the state 



186 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

of the weather up and down the street, in which 
resides your Dulcinea : — 

" Want your ladder at twelve, sharp." 

^' Happy to serve your worship." 
And, at the same time, you slip into his hand a 
persuader and cause of action. At the appointed 
hour, your man is at his post of duty. If the 
piece you gave him was a gold one, he will be 
there punctually. And, by the by, it may as well 
be observed here for the bei^efit of all travellers 
going to Spain, or even to Portugal, that most 
persons, in making an estimate of their probable 
expenses in the Peninsula, go very wrong in their 
calculations from taking into the account the 
cheapness of provisions there, but leaving out the 
very exorbitant prices usually paid for ladders. 
Verbum sat. 

You mount to the first balcony. Unfortunately 
young Misses in Spain are never allowed to sleep 
lower down than the third story. Still, where 
there is a will, there is a way — even to the top 
of the house. Your lady-love lets down to you 
her rope-ladder! One desperate eilbrt more — 



MAHRIACK. 187 

don't look down, or you may have an attack of 
vertigo — and 3^ou are kneeling at the prettiest 
pair of feet that ever walked Spanish. For the 
first five minutes, you may be too much overcome 
by tlie climbing for speech. But the moment 
you do get your breatli, you pour out such a con- 
flagration of hot vows as would inevitably set the 
chinmey on fire, but luckily there are no such 
things in the country. 

You are now an accepted lover — and get 
down the ladder the same way you got up. You 
will next day be introduced to the family — enter- 
ing the house by the front door — when you will 
take care to observe most punctiliously all the 
formalities in such cases made and providea. 
From that point, the operations of courtship are 
carried on very nearly as in other Christian coun- 
tries. It is only the admission over the window- 
sill which is a cosa cle Espana. By the end of a 
twelve-month, or before, you are married ; and 
being thoroughly tired of the tosses and crosses 
of single travel, you settle down to the perform- 
ance of all domestic, social, and civil duties with 



188 cos AS DE ESP AN A. 

a most exemplary fidelity. You become the head 
of a fine family of children. Your youngest, 
dear little I'ogue, fills up the measure of your 
delights, as, tugging away at the hair of your 
head with one hand, and ramming the fingers of 
the other up your nostrils, he charms you with 
his lisping of '^ papa, poor 'papaP 'Tis a con- 
summation of travel devoutly to be wished. 



BARCELONESE FISHERMEN. 

At Barcelona the winter generally lasts a fort- 
night. The perpetual sunshine of the year being 
interrupted for about that length of time in the 
month of January, this brief interval of cloud 
and damp, whitened once in a quarter of a cen- 
tury by a few snow-flakes, is termed in the lan- 
guage of courtesy el invierno. 

It was, I remember, a day or two after the 
close of this brief season, that I strolled out of 
town, one morning, to the beach, for the purpose 
of seeing the fishermen draw their nets. The 
first part of ray path lay along the Muralla del 
Mar, where the gorgeous scene was worthy of 
the pencil of a Turner. Out at sea, the horizon 
was a blaze of sunlight ; in the harbor, the ships 



190 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

had Luifurled their sails to dry in the golden day ; 
and, in all directions, the white, brown and pur- 
ple of the canvas was vividly painted on the blue 
of the reposing waves. Directly before me was 
moored a large ship from the Levant, the sailors 
of which were climbing the shrouds in their pic- 
turesque but un sailor-like costume ; near the 
landing-place a goodly number of red-capped 
boatmen were lying upon their oars, idling away 
in unconscious delight the sunny hours ; porters 
in cool linen were piling high upon the wharf the 
yellow wheat from the Ebro ; and boys, with 
nothing but their s'^^irts on, v>^ere wading for mus- 
cles about the rocks on the shore. I leaned over 
the railing of the Muralla^ and gazed long at this 
beautiful sea scene, where the sailor, no longer 
tempest-tost, or drifting upon the rock-bound 
shore, was lying safely at anchor in a peaceful 
haven, and pouring out in laugh and song the 
natural gayety of a heart at ease. 

I lingered another half hour, too, in the garden 
del general. There, were gathered together 
birds from many climes, which were making the 



GARDEN DEL GENERAL. 191 

morning resound with their sweet voices. So 
loudly were they vaunting the delights of their 
imprisoned life, that even tlie free wanderers of 
the air, attracted by the resounding joy, were 
fluttering in considerable numbers around — ap- 
parently itching to be caged. The cypress and 
myrtle here cast a mingled shade of melancholy 
and of love. Still the climbing rose peeping into 
every bower was smiling too brightly on the scone 
to leave any spot for sadness. The orange thick- 
ets were, at the same time, golden wdth fruit and 
white with flowers ; the pepper-tree hung out 
over the humbler foliage its delicate fringes ; and 
the palm, towering above all, spread against the 
sky its fan of leaves. Swans were arching their 
necks over the surface of sunny pools, in which 
gold and silver fish were gamboling ; and one 
could have the satisfaction of looking upon the 
play of fountains in mid-winter without exposing 
himself to an attack of the ague. 

The gates are open to all classes, from beggars 
to hidalgos. And hovv' luxurious is the life of 
the former in this bower of flowers ! In winter, 



192 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

seeking out some warm bench, he basks with his 
fellows in the rays of the cheerful sun. In sum- 
mer, lying upon some fountain's sheltered bank, 
or beneath the protecting roof of overhanging 
branches, he woos the shade, and saves himself 
the cost of perspiration he can so ill afford to 
lose. 'He entertains his hours with the cheap 
music of birds and falling fountains. He sees 
the gay world go by. And with an onion and a 
crust under his jacket, he looks upon the well-fed 
lords and ladies less with envy than with sympa- 
thetic delight. He knows that, " for the love of 
God and the Blessed Yirgin," some pious souls 
will have pity on him in his extremities. His 
daily crumbs, therefore, are as sure as bond and 
mortgage. For, indeed, he will give all good 
Christians who come near his bower no peace 
until they pay toll to his beaver. You may plead 
poverty for the moment ; may put him off till 
Sunday, when you give to everybody ; may en- 
treat ; may threaten ; may get into a' passion, or 
may hold your peace, and affect not to notice him. 
It will not all do. He will stick closer to you, 



BEGGARS. 193 

being a stranger, than a brother. Yet there is 
one formula which will stop his im}3ortunities, and 
is therefore in very general use among the na- 
tives. If you say to him with good Castilian ac- 
cent, Vhija con DicM — Be off^ and may the bles- 
sing of God go icith you^ he gives it up at once. 
I have often tried the experiment, and never 
known it to fail. And what is still more strange, 
I have found this Spanish form of words to suc- 
ceed even with your Irish mendicant. Whether 
it mystifies poor paddy, or whether it frightens 
him, and makes him think he has fallen in with 
the devil's first cousin, I know not. But in three 
cases out of four, I have found this Vaya con 
Dios to act as a perfect charm. I doubt, how- 
ever, whether a Scotch gabcrlunzie could be put 
off with any such nonsense ; and I have also ob- 
served that all old country beggars, once landed 
on the shores of Yankeedom, seem to regard the 
cabalistic words as no more than so much " pal- 
aver." 

Sauntering on through the garden I passed 

the town-gates, and soon gained the open shore. 

9 



194 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

A gentle swell was riding into land, and break- 
ing in musical ripples on the winding beach. 
Bright-looking towns and villages were seen 
in the level distance ; and out at sea, for many 
a league, the vaporless expanse of water smiled 
in the sunlight. Just above the sea-mark on 
the shore stand the homes of the fishermen, 
built on the sands. They are mere huts of 
earth, and such timber as is to be gotten out of 
reeds, cactus leaves, corn-stalks, matting, and 
rags. The materials of this composite order of 
architecture are cemented together by a few rope- 
ends. A curtain made of a piece of sackcloth, 
or an old petticoat, does the office of a door, and 
closes at night the only entrance into this six-by- 
eight kennel. Nevertheless in each one whole 
families of men, women, and children, are stowed 
away. Like brutes they live — though they may 
die very good Catholics. The kitchen of one of 
these domestic establishments is, of course, out- 
side. It consists of three stones and a pot on 
the top of them. Under this vessel burn a. few 
vines, a few leaves, a little dirt. In it is the refuse 



SETTING THE NET. 195 

of markets — wilted vegetables — garlic. Tlie 
grandmother sits o\Qr the kettle, keeping the 
three stones and the beach sand burning. In her 
intervals of leisure, she searches the heads of her 
grandchildren to expel from the family those su- 
perfluous members which therein do burrow. To 
facilitate this important labor, the urchins are 
kept closely cropped, like the beggar-boys of 
Murillo. The dark, glossy, silken locks are mer- 
cilessly shorn off ; and the little barbarian has 
nothing left him but his ears and his eyelashes. 

While the aged hag is thus occupied, the other 
members of the ftimily are at work upon the net. 
In the morning this is set about a mile out at sea ; 
and in the afternoon it is drawn into land. The 
two extremities of the net, when it is stretched 
out in the water, are about a quarter of a mile 
distant from each other. At these two outer 
ropes commences the work of drawing in tlie 
whole to the shore. In the early part of the 
operation, the labor is facilitated by the use of 
boats ; but later, it is done by the whole posse of 
men, women, and children, standing upon the 



196 . COSAS DE ESPANA. 

beach. The two extremities gradually approach 
each other as they are hauled in, until at last 
they come together ; and the fish are brought to 
land in the centre of the net as in a bag. The 
operation being done slowly occupies a space of 
several hours. 

The drawing of nets is like the drawing of lot- 
teries. The result may be a fish, or it may be a 
stone. Hence, as in all occupations where the 
issues depend largely upon chance, the curiosity 
of the persons concerned is a good deal excited. 
Their imaginations are stimulated ; and the body 
derives new vigor from the cheerful action of the 
mind. The young fisherman, as he slowly draws 
to shore the innumerable meshes, ponders in his 
heart upon the possible value of his draught. If 
as imaginative as some fishers have been, he may 
see the treasures of half a sea coming in to shore. 
He may really catch only a few sardines, as long- 
as his finger ; but his fancy excludes from the 
net nothing short of behemoth and leviathan. 
There may be even dolphins and mermaids in it. 
He may have caught a nymph of the sea napping, 



DRAWING THE NKT. 11)7 

and bring another Venus out of the foam. His 
dreamy thoughts wander down into the deep sea's 
caverns, and fish up pearls, corals, and ship- 
wrecked doubloons. In every fish's mouth he 
will find a piece of money. His interest rises 
with every additional pull at the ropes ; and only 
the sight of simple " cod and haddies," of crabs 
and herrings, of a flounder or two, or of a bushel of 
sardines, will at last convince him that his prizes 
are blanks, and that his treasures still lie in the 
deep bosom of the ocean buried. 

The drawing of nets, therefore, is gala-work. 
Boys like to have a hand in it. It is done with 
gayety and song, like the labors of the vin- 
tage. At any rate, it is so at Barcelona. The 
whole tribe of fishers, when I saw them at 
work on the beach, may have consisted of some 
forty or fifty men, women, and children. Though 
clad like gipsies, they were all as merry as the 
best of Christians. They sang ; they called and 
answered each other ; they laughed and jested ; 
they ate and drank and smoked at the ropes, as 
though the easy toil were no interruption of their 



198 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

life of idleness and content. Their dress was as 
gay as their hearts were merry. All the men 
were in jackets which once, at least, had been 
velvet. Caps of all colors — white only excepted 
— graced their heads. Scarfs were bound around 
their loins ; and all were naked to the knees. 

I singled out one fellow for my special fa- 
vorite. His cap was red ; his jacket yellow ; 
his breeches green ; his sash purple. All were 
sadly the worse for wear ; and were nearly all 
gone except the colors. These stuck fast to him. 
Feet, legs, hands, breast, and face, w^ere bare — 
and were bronze. A short cord, which, passing 
over his shoulder and across his breast, formed 
a loop, was attached behind his back by means 
of a slip-knot to the main rope of the net. By 
this cord, easily fastened on to the cable, as he 
commenced drawing at the water's edge, and as 
easily detached, when he reached the limit of the 
upper beach, my man was harnessed to the com- 
mon load, and did his small proportion of the 
general labor. He ate his dinner at the same 
time that he did liis work. For his hands being 



DINING AT THE ROPES. IfU 

ffee, he had only to thrust one into one pocket 
and pull out a roll of bread ; and the other into 
another and fisli up an onion or a pepper. His 
bottle also was stowed away in his breeches, and 
was invariably brouglit out at the end of every 
course in the feast — that is, after every slice 
from his loaf and peel from his onion. There 
was no hurry in the service. It took about as 
much time for his bottle to get out of his pocket 
and back again, as it would for a decanter to go 
the rounds of a dinj^er table. He did not seem 
to begrudge the time. As he walked up the 
beach, harnessed to the cable, one foot followed 
the other with a slow and equal motion. It was 
evident that he was not walking for a wager. It 
was equally plain that he was swallowing his 
dinner no faster than he could comfortably di- 
gest it. When his repast was at last brought 
to a close, that is, when the bread had been eaten 
to the last crumb, and the bottle emptied to the 
last drop, he drew out of his pocket a smalfbook, 
as if to say his prayers. But he did no such 
thing. It was his smoking book. Having care- 



200 COSAS DE ESP AN A. 

fully extracted a leaf, he placed on it a piiicli of 
tobacco, and neatly rolled up a cigarillo, which 
he smoked apparently with as much relish as any 
hidalgo could his Havana. 

By the time my barbarian had finished his 
cigarillo, the net had been nearly all dragged to 
the shore. In a short time the fish were seen 
fluttering in the meshes. The march of the men 
at the rope was now slightly quickened. Anoth- 
er pull — another, still — and the shining, scaly 
booty was brought to land. Idlers and fishermen 
all crowded eagerly around to see the day's re- 
sult. Their curiosity was soon satisfied, for the 
draught turned out to be a small one, and consist- 
ed only of a few bushels of sardines. 

But these poor people seemed well satisfied. 
If they earn ten or twelve cents a day, 'tis all 
they care for. With three or four, they can buy 
as much black bread as will suffice for a man a 
day. With as many more, a big-bellied bottle of 
wine can be purchased. The rest will pay for 
the garlic and the tobacco ; and any still remain- 
ing surplus may go to add another rag to their 



HAPPY LIFE. 201 

backs, or their cabins. The whole tribe were 

foreigii-borii, having come, a few years before, 

from the neighboring province of Yalencia, in 

consequence of the higher wages, as they said, of 

the city of Barcelona. 

Happy are they. Every day of the year they 

draw their net. The sand of the beach makes 

them a soft couch at night. The murmuring of 

the sea soothes their slumbers. Their cabins 

look toward tlie terra caliente, the homes from 

wliich they have gone out, and whither they are 

too well ofl' ever to wish to return. Children of 

the sun, they ask for no higher enjoyment than 

to lie on the burning beach, and to bathe in the 

tepid wave. 

And through many a peaceful year may you 

continue to drag your nets to the shore, ye 

simple iishers ! The summer's sun, I know, will 

not be too hot for you ; may the winter never 

be too cold. When the rain descends and the 

floods come, may your huts not share the fate of 

the houses of greater sinners than you are. May 

you, at last, all die in your beds on the snnd, nnd 

9* 



202 cos AS DE ESPANA. 

your final sleep be only the sounder for the mur- 
muring waves which will break over your graves 
on the shore. 

Even if admitted into the cementerio^ these 
fishermen will not fail of being buried by their 
beloved Mediterranean. For this " God's acre" 
is situated hard by the sea, and near to the place 
of the drawing of nets. Only in this consecrated 
retreat, the dead sleep their sleep above ground. 
They are plastered into nichos in the walls ; and 
if they were to be baked, they could not be placed 
in sepulchres more resembling ovens. But, though 
in simple holes in the wall, they doubtless sleep 
well. In rough weather, the sea chants their re- 
quiem, and will continue to do so until its voice 
shall be drowned in the tumult of the final trum- 
pet. At ail other times, the gentle ripple which 
tosses its bubbles on the beach will not disturb 
so much as the dreams of an infant sleeper. And 
when, in the general resurrection of humanity, 
these bodies of the sons of God come forth, they 
will linger a moment, I am sure, ere taking their 
leave of this, their fair natal shore. Nor will 



GRAVES ON THE SHORE. 203 

any souls, which, from the fpur quarters of the 
earth, shall then ascend the skies, find any short- 
er pathway to heaven than that travelled by the 
simple fishers, who, from this spot, shall climb 
the Southern Pyrenees. 



XVII. 

HOLYDAYS AT BARCELONA. 

Spanish life is pretty well filled up withjiob 



^^ IP' The co untry is undfij:u4h@--^¥©laetignj^^ 
b^Lfcairfilledcal^nd^X-^^f^^ 
teiidom, Italy, pjilxaps^--,excepted^ But these 
guardians do not keep watch and ward for 
naught : they have each their " solid day" annu- 
ally set apart for them, or, at least, their after- 
noon, wherein to receive adoration and tribute 
money. The poor Spaniard is kept nearly half 
the year on his knees. His prayers cost him 
his pesetas, too ; for, neither the saints will in- 
tercede nor the priests will absolve, except for 
cash. But his time spent in ceremonies, the 
Spaniard counts as nothing. The fewer days the 
laborer has to work, the happier is he. These 
are the dull' prose of an existence essentially 



THE SIGHT-SEEING. 20 r> 

poetic. On holydays, on the contrary, the life 
of the lowest classes runs as smoothly as verses. 
If the poor man's j^grrpn only be well filled with 
wine, he cantrust to luck ^nd- the saints-ibr. a 
roll of bread and a few onions. Free from cni-e, 
he likes, three days in the week, to put on his 
best — more likely, his only bib-and-tucker — and 
go to mass, instead of field or wharf duty. He 
is well pleased at the gorgeous ceremonies of his 
venerable mother-church : at the sight of street 
processions, with crucifix and sacramental can- 
opy, and priests in cloth of purple and of gold. 
The spectacle also of the gay promenading, the 
music, the parade and mimic sliow of war, the 
free theatres, the bull-fights, the streets hung 
with tapestry, and the town-hall's front adorned 
with a flaming full length of Isabella the Second 
— these constitute the brilliant passages in the 
epic of his life. Taking no thought for the mor- 
row after the holyday, he is wiser than a philos- 
opher^ and enjoys _the_golden hours as they fly. 
Indeed, he can well afford to do so; for, in his 
sunny land of corn and wine, the common neces- 



206 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

saries of life are procured with almost as little 
toil as in the bread-fruit islands of the Pacific. 

JlII the Spaniard's holydays are religious festi- 
vals. There is no Fourth of July in his year. 
His mirth, accordingly, is not independent and 
profane, like the Yankee's. Being more accus- 
tomed also to playtime, he is less tempted to fill 
it up with excesses. It is in the order of his 
holyday to go, first of all, to church ; and a cer- 
tain air of religious decorum is carried along into 
all the succeeding amusements. Neither is his 
the restless, capering enjoyment of the French- 
man, who begins and ends his holydays with 
dancing ; nor the chattering hilarity of the Ital- 
ian, who goes beside himself over a few roasted 
chestnuts and a monkey. The Spaniard wears a 
somewhat graver face. His happiness requires 
less muscular movement. To stand wrapped in 
his cloak, statue-like, in the public square ; to sit 
on sunny bank, or beneath shady bower, is about 
as much activity as suits his dignity. Only the 
sound of castanets can draw him from his propri- 
ety ; and the steps of the fandango work his 



THE MERRY-MAKING. 207 

brain up to intoxication. Spanish festal-time, 
accordingly, is like the hazy, dreamy, voluptuous 
days of the Indian summer, when the air is as 
full of calm as it is of splendor, and when the 
pulses of Nature beat full, but feverless. 

The holyday is easily filled up with pleasures. 
-The peasant has no more to do than to throw 
back his head upon the turf, and tantalize his 
dissolving mouth by holding over it the purple 
clusters, torn from overhanging branches. The 
beggar lies down against a wall, and counts into 
the hand of his companion the pennies they have 
to spend together during the day — unconscious 
the while that the sand of half its hours has al- 
ready run out. The village-beauty twines roses 
in her hair, and looks out of the window, happy 
to see the gay-jacketed youngsters go smirking 
and ogling by. The belles of the town lean over 
their flower balconies, chatting with neighbors/ 
and raining glances on the throng of admirers 
who promenade below. Town and country wear 
their holyday attire with graceful, tranquil joy. 
Only from the cafes of the one, and the ventorillos 



208 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

of the other, may perchance be heard the sounds 
of revelry ; where the guitar is thrummed with a 
gayety not heard in serenades ; where the violin 
leads youthful feet a round of pleasures, too fast 
for sureness of footing ; and where the claque of 
the castanets rings out merrily above laugh and 
song, firing the heart with passions which com- 
port not well with Castilian gravity. 



XVIII. 

THE ANNUAL FAIR. 

All days, says the proverb, are not feasts in 
Barcelona — there are some which are fairs. As 
sure as the twenty-first of December dawns on the 
city, there will be a grand market lield in it. 
The Rambla, the Paseo Nuevo, and all the broad- 
er streets and squares, will be filled with tempo- 
rary booths. Everything that can be wanted for 
the supply of a year's life, excepting daily bread, 
will there be spread out before the purdiaser. 
From silks to rags, from new platters to rusty 
nalis, from the books of the day to those printed 
in 1600, from the furniture for rich men's houses 
to the beggar's spoon and blanket, from every- 
thing at first hand to everything at third, wliat is 
there which can not here be bouo-ht for duros 



21 U COSAS DE ESPANA. 

and for reals ? Nothing which is made for use- 
is ever cast off in this country as worthless. 
What is first manufactured for the rich is after- 
ward sold to the poor. A crooked, rusty nail 
has here a marketable value. A cracked kettle 
which will not hold the rich man's water, will 
cook the stews of a beggar ; and be prized as was 
the barber's basin by Don Quixote. 

To all lovers, therefore, of patched-up china- 
ware, broken-backed chairs, and out-of-joint chests 
of drawers — to all collectors of uncurrent coins, 
books in black-letter, swords well hacked upon 
the skulls of the infidel, and old pictures warrant- 
ed to be better than new — let me say Spain is 
your El Dorado. Bat hasten ; for the exchange- 
able value of all this ancient dust and lumber is 
rapidly rising in the home market. Already, in 
fact, if you ask a Spaniard to sell you any old 
stone of his, three times out of four he takes the 
alarm, and puts an " asking price" upon it which 
would go nigh to purchasing the fabled philoso- 
pher's. If a foreigner should propose to buy the 
clouted shoes off his feet, the suspicion would 



BAIUJAIN'IXC WITH A SPANIARD 211 

flash across his mind that they were a pair of 
seven-league boots in disguise ; and he would 
sooner part with liis honor as an hidalgo than 
allow tlicm to go out of his possession. In fact, 
to drive a bargain with a native for any venera- 
ble heirloom, requires as much strategy as to 
conduct a campaign. You must approach the 
subject from as great a distance as you would if 
you were going to besiege a town. The first 
step to be taken is to make a direct allusion to 
the greatness of the Spanish nation — as it was 
in the days of the first Isabella — and promises 
to be in those of the second. Then, you may 
dilate at large on the fine climate of the country, 
the bravery of the army, the beauty of the women, 
the excellence of the vino ordinario, and on all the 
manifold attractions of the heaven of the Spains. 
At length, concentrating your forces, you may 
adroitly address a few rounds of compliments to 
the individual Spaniard before you ; and having 
first carried all his outworks, you will have every 
chance of capturing the citadel itself. To do 
this, perhaps no more will be necessary than sim- 



212 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

ply to intimate that the possession' of any relic 
which bore his name, or had been for the last 
thousand years in the keeping of his family, 
would be esteemed by you an. honor of which you 
would be no less proud than of your own birth- 
right. He will now, out of personal regard for 
so polite a gentleman, be most happy to part v/ith 
the oldest parchment or porcelain in his family. 
You shall have it for courtesy's sake — and the 
good round sum you have offered. So that at 
last you walk off relieved of the load in your 
pockets, and the fortunate possessor of some old, 
worm-eaten volume of ghostly commentaries — 
som-C rusty Roman coin manufactured in the nine- 
teenth century — some antiquated three-legged 
stool, which formerly belonged to a duenna — 
some rickety set of drawers, once the property 
of a dilapidated old bachelor — a big carved 
stone, a piece of the rock of Gibraltar, or a pic- 
ture of a very renowned saint in a high state of 
ecstasy. 

But to return to the fair — one of the chief ar- 
ticles exposed for sale is live poultry. The Cat- 



COCKS OX Till-: WALK. 213 

alonian peasants, men, women, and children, come 
down from the inonntains with stock enough to 
su])ply a fowl for every pot in the city. After 
daybreak, there is no such thing as sleeping in 
all the town for the chanticleering. You can not 
take your stroll through the Rambla for the num- 
ber of cocks on the walk. However, if a fowl 
fancier, you push your way through ; and have 
the satisfaction of seeing roosters carried off at a 
price far more reasonable than that which you 
had to pay for your Shanghais. While for one 
of these far-fetched crowers, you have been fondly 
giving a sum of money large enough to buy even 
the Gallic cock himself off the Yevy escutcheon 
of France, here you may pick up any number of 
Catalans, almost as big and twice as saucy, for 
less than it would cost in our large towns to sup- 
ply them with gravel-stones. They are cheaper 
than American dirt. You finally refuse to look 
at them, therefore, from sheer disgust ; and turn 
all your attention to the peasant-girls, who have 
them in charge. 
These hold themselves less cheap. They are. 



214 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

in fact, prouder and more savage than any fight- 
ing cocks. You had better catch a Tartar than 
attempt to cage one of them for any purpose. 
They are perfect Amazons, and weaf daggers in 
their garters. Beware ! However, I will say 
this of them, that when it comes to fighting, they 
are no match for their mothers. The quarrels 
of these dames with each other are far more fierce, 
as well as amusing, than those of their own roost- 
ers, and reveal a peculiar feature of female man- 
ners in Catalonia. They do not end in words. 
They do not consist in pulling each other's hair. 
These are but the accidents of the combat. The 
great aim and effort always is to perform upon 
each other that operation which mothers are 
sometimes obliged to perform on crying babies. 
If they do not succeed in doing this, there is no 
victory — but merely a drawn game. 

But let us go over to the Paseo Nuevo, and 
see the turkeys. There you will find a greater 
number of these birds congregated than you sup- 
posed to exist in all Spain. They cover this 
extensive promenade completely over. The heav- 



A PROMENADE OF TURKEY?. 215 

ens are filled with gobblings. Never was such 
an amount of strutting seen on any walk as this. 
A modest man might be humiliated in the pres- 
ence of so much pretension, and feel ashamed to 
hold his head up, lest he should be suspected of 
attempting to carry it over this immense roost 
of rivals. However, lie is kept in countenance 
by the haughty dames who in full dress come out 
from church to make their selections for the spiL. 
These pass from drove to drove, looking where 
to choose, and evidently driving close bargains. 
The peasant, aided by wife and children, all hav- 
ing long reed poles, keeps his brood together, and 
easily catches his gobblers as fast as they are 
wanted. The weighing is done by hand. When 
bought, the bird is carried off by a servant in at- 
tendance ; and the line lady, continuing her prom- 
enade, joins the company on the Muralla del 
Mar. 



XIX. 



THE PIG-KILLING. 



After the poultry has all been eaten up, comes 
the pig-killing. This, too, happening at the 
Christmas season, makes an occasion more or 
less festal in Barcelona. Your Spanish pig, who, 
by the way, is a no less important character in 
his country than is his cousin in Ireland, is not 
raised for the vulgar purpose of being fried to 
lard, or salted down to pork. He has, in fact, 
no more fat than he has hair on him. He is a 
long-legged, long-snouted, and long-tailed fellow, 
and would have been described by Plato as an 
animal without hairs. But though the pickings 
on his ribs be small, they are sweet. The Span- 
iard rolls the morsels under his tongue as he does 
his easily-besetting sins. It is nut-fed flesh ; and 



pk; is game. 217 

has the flavor of acorns. Tliis taste is as much 
prized in the roasted joint as that of the skin in 
the sherry. Pig is game in Spain. The porker 
does not live here in the chimney-corner, and sit 
in the best arm-chair, as in Paddy's cabin ; but 
he roams the fields, and goes a-nutting with the 
boys and girls. He eats grass, as there are no 
cows to eat it ; and would milk the goats, doubt- 
less, if they would let him. He evidently knows 
more than the same animal in other countries ; 
and is, in consequence, more willing to be driven. 
He will squeal when he feels the knife, but for 
no other reason. Nor is his squeal the same as 
that heard at the North. There are more vowel 
sounds in it. It is also less through the nose 
than in New England ; and has some gutturals 
even farther down the throat than those of a 
Dutchman. Your wild boar is a monster com- 
pared with him. The flesh of the latter is to 
that of the former as the crisp brown of roast pig 
is to the tanned hide in your riding saddle. Ac- 
cordingly, to refuse pork at a Spanish table is to 

pronounce yourself " of the circumcision ;" and 

10 



218 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

should you decline a cut of a particularly nice 
ham, you would be set down as no better than a 
heathen. However, you never would do it — 
particularly after having read this essay. I as- 
sure you that when you may have eaten up all the 
chickens which were stowed away in your saddle- 
bags, you can not do better than to attack your 
landlord's roast pig — provided you can get it. 
Only it may cost you dear in the reckoning, as it 
is thought a dish to set before the king. You 
may like pork, or you may not ; but one thing 
is certain, it is the only meat in the peninsula 
which has juices in it. Mutton may have a very 
little ; and should you travel far in the country, 
you would see the day when you would be glad 
of a leg of it. But the beef is dry as " whit- 
tlings." An entire joint of roast beef would kill 
a man as effectually as a joist of timber. Who- 
ever should undertake to live on Spanish beef a 
twelvemonth, would become at the end of that 
time what he was, in fact, at the beginning — 
wooden-headed. Make up your mind, therefore, 
to eat the meat of the uncircumcised, if you have 



KILLED ON THE PASEO. 219 

any thought of going to Spain. You will often 
have to take your choice between that and noth- 
ing ; and my word- for it, 'tis much preferable. 
For the land is leaner far than the pork ; and 
happy is that traveller who, when he is reduced 
to pickings, can find a spare-rib to work upon. 
Forewarned — forearmed. 

But first let us see how queerly the Spaniard 
goes to work to kill his pig. The thing is not 
done in the country, nor in a corner. It is a so- 
lemnity which is celebrated on one of the most 
fashionable promenades of the city. The ladies 
go to mass, and then to the sacrifice of hogs on 
the Paseo Nuevo. They may not take their walk 
for this particular purpose, as they may not go 
to church to say their prayers. But let them be 
walking, with one design or another — and they 
frequently have several in their heads at once — 
they can not go to this favorite promenade with- 
out hearing the squealing. Every traveller is 
bound to see the hogs on the Paseo, as they are 
among the lions of the city ; and every one- who 
would give an account of the cosas de Barcelona 



220 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

is under the absolute necessity of describing the 
killing of them. 

One extremity of the esplanade, then, is covered 
with herds of swine, all as black as if they were 
possessed with devils. Your Spaniard himself 
is brown. Of course, his pig can not be white. 
He has been black ever since the country was in 
the possession of the Moors — if not longer. In- 
deed, a white porker would pass for a ghost — 
would make every native turn paler than himself 
— and would be driven out of the Peninsula with 
Pater-Nosters. Accordingly, the pigs on the 
Paseo are all black, and all catholic. 

The portion of the esplanade set apart for these 
sacrifices may be half an acre or more. Thither 
the predestined are driven by tens and by fifties 
from' the country. A certain number of them, 
called first to meet their fate, are coaxed into the 
slaugiiter-house, and then bound hand and foot. 
As for the house, it consists of a small circular 
portion of the sands of the Paseo ^ without a sin- 
gle board to cover them, and of. so much of the 
blue heavens as roofs the spot. There are no 



CHARRED. 221 

floors, no clean straw, no hot water, no cross- 
beams, no pulleys. There are hogs and Span- 
iards — no more. And 'tis all that is necessary 
— as WG shall see. 

Of the sticking^ the less that is said, the bet- 
ter ; so of the squealing. The rule of the former 
operation seems to be Hioere ivell done^ if Hivere 
done quickly; and of the latter, where there 
is so little wool or hair, there should not be too 
much crying. The precious life-current is caught 
in platters, and goes into the puddings of the 
ayuntamiento, no doubt. Once the small soul 
of the porker fled through the bloody opening, a 
hook is struck into his snout, and the unresisting 
head is lifted up on to a small log as on to a pillow. 
Beyond this lies parallel another log, at the dis- 
tance of a couple of feet ; and between the two 
is a low fire of vine-fagots. The head is pulled 
over the flames, first this side and then that, until 
what little hair the animal had on his fore-top is 
singed, and the outer skin looks as if it were 
well crisped. This operation is continued from 
head to tail — one man pulling and turning by 



222 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

means of tlie hook, and another doing the same 
by the natural handle of the hind feet. A nov- 
ice might suppose that the pig was about to be 
roasted in preparation for some great feast ; where- 
as he is simply to be charred a little, and scraped 
with a hoe. The animal, which went on to the 
fire black, comes off of it white. To make the 
transfiguration perfect, the body is dragged from 
the logs on to a few clean hurdles, and laid back 
upward, as natural as life. Then the cleaner 
mounts and seats himself astride the neck as cav- 
alierly as though he were going to run a race, or 
make a sally against the Jews. But, instead of 
that, he goes busily to work upon the head, re- 
moving by means of the scraper, together with a 
very small quantum of water, what had been left 
by the hoe. As he gains upon his task, he grad- 
ually removes his seat farther and farther back, 
until at last he rides by the tail, and may tumble 
off into the mud behind, if he be not careful. All 
this is the work of but a few minutes. The clean- 
ing process finished, the butcher approaches, and 
at a blow or two, cuts off, not the head, but the 



BRANDED. 223 

half of it — being that portion attached to the 
upper jaw. Then down the back goes the quick 
knife — one or twice — and the bone is out, with 
the tail into the bargain. It is done in scarcely 
more time than it takes an old salt to split a cod- 
fish. Baskets are brought lined with clean white 
cloths to receive the entrails. The blood is neatly 
wiped out of the carcass by napkins. The knife 
goes down the belly as it had before the back. 
The officer of excise, whose dignity is supported 
by a tent, with a couple of chained bull-dogs, now 
comes forward and applies the red-hot brand to 
the two separated sides. Each of these is lifted 
by means of a pole laid across two men's shoul- 
ders, and is weighed. Then, finally, each man, 
shouldering his half, walks off with it out of the 
ring, and deposites it in a neighboring cart, which 
straightway rattles both off to the market. Every 
part of the process being done by experts, the 
whole is accomplislied with remarkable rapidity, 
and with greater neatness than could be expected, 
considering place and persons. Nothing short 
of a little broiling over their own logs, I am sure, 



224 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

would suffice to whiten the hides of the pig-killers 
themselves. As it was, they were precisely the 
^olor of hams, and had every appearance of being 
just from the smoke-hole. 

Not to say too little on this very Spanish theme, 
I will add that the porker has the liberty of the 
walk in Barcelona on one other occasion besides 
that when he is led out to slaughter. It is when 
he is put up in a raffle. Then you see him walk- 
ing over the course, escorted with fife and drum, 
and his tail tied up with ribbons. The musicians 
go before, and a driver with a big whip follows 
after. Thus in triumphal procession the decor- 
ated shote passes through the principal streets 
of the town. He moves on cheerfully, though 
slow — whether pleased with a music scarcely too 
scientific to gratify his ear, or stimulated by the 
cracks of a thong, of which he is perfectly able 
to appreciate the melody. All men give way to 
him. For the time being he is the hog of the 
walk. He deserves to be. For he has been 
picked out from all his fellows, as the biggest, 
the fattest, the handsomest. Like many gayer 



RAFFLED. 225 

promcnaders, he takes his airing less to see than 
be seen. Not that he expects to attract the eyes 
of fair ladies, or the glasses of the beaux. It 
will better answer the purpose if a tailor look at 
him — if a cobbler be induced to l)uy one of his 
tickets — if a butcher or an innkeeper, or any 
person who may think it cheaper to purchase his 
meat by lottery than to go to market for it, shall 
be led from a sight of his fat points to go to one 
of the numerous lottery offices, and pay down his 
peseta for a chance at tlie " whole hog." These 
offices are located at convenient points about the 
town, and may be recognised by a sign over the 
door, containing the portrait of the identical ani- 
mal, drawn in chalk or charcoal. 

The passion for lotteries is strong in Spain. 
The government constantly helps out its unsatis- 
factory revenues by aid of them. Lottery tickets 
are exposed for sale in the principal streets. 
Traders in tickets are to be met with on the pub- 
lic walks. The numbers which have drawn 
prizes in the great national lotteries at Madrid 

are posted up at the street-corners by agents of 

10* 



226 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

the government ; and the fortunate drawer of the 
highest prize is heralded about in all the newspa- 
pers. The pig-rifas, however, are authorized by 
the authorities of the city ; and are always said 
to be granted for charitable purposes. Hence 
the luckless purchaser, who gives his good hard 
reals for a blank, may always comfort himself 
with the belief that his money has gone to the 
poor's box — though, for my part, I greatly fear 
lest a considerable percentage may have stopped 
in the pockets of the ayuntamiento . 
• Observe that your Spaniard does not set up a 
horse or an ox — not even a bull or a donkey in 
a raffle. He knows that no soul would buy a 
ticket. It would require double the number of 
musicians, and still worse music to attract the 
attention of the moneyed public. A few gipsies 
might look at a horse or an ass who was going to 
be put into a rifa, particularly if he were halt, or 
blind, or badly spavined. The populace might 
look at a bull, if it were one which showed fight 
and rendered it prudent for all but torreadores 
to get out of the way. Yet it could not be cer- 



BAPTIZED. 227 

tain that anybody but idle beggars would take 
the trouble to run after any of the before-men- 
tioned quadrupeds. But show a native an animal 
capable of being converted into hams and bacon, 
and his mouth is at once dissolved in interest in 
him. He instinctively puts his hands into his 
pockets to see if he is rich enough to be the own- 
er of one peseta. _If so, he goes straight to the 
well-known office, and buys a ticket entitling him, 
by help of Santa Eulalia, to the animal entire. 
Such is the Spaniard's way of filling his pork 
barrel. 

But the distinctive peculiarity of the Barcelo- 
nese pig remains to be mentioned ; and could on 
no account be left out of any right description of 
him. It is not that he eats nuts. It is not that 
he is killed on the Paseo Nuevo. It is not that 
he is put into lotteries. It is that he is blessed 
by the priest. As soon as he gets his eyes open, 
he is a candidate for baptism. The quicker the 
better after the cutting of his eyeteeth, he is 
spritikled with holy water. That ceremony per- 
formed upon him, he is no longer an unclean an- 



228 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

imal. He is held to be as good as regenerated. 
He is esteemed Christian, and as Catholic as 
Saint George of Catalonia. The act for ever 
shields him from all bad accidents. He is not 
liable to lose his appetite and refuse nuts. His 
supper is not likely to give him the nightmare. 
He is not exposed to the risk of breaking his nose 
off in rooting. He can not be spirited away by 
hobgoblins, or have his tail pulled out by the Old 
Nick. His meat is sure to be wholesome. No 
Christian can be choked in swallowing it, though 
the smallest morsel would strangle a Jew. It 
will not play tricks in the stomachs of true be- 
lievers, while it would work like poison in the 
bowels of a pilfering gipsy, and refuse to amal- 
gamate with the blood of any Moor or Infidel. 
Its juices rendered pure as holy water itself, it 
will not spoil the complexion of the most deli- 
cately-bred soDorita, nor make any caballero a 
shade blacker than he is by nature. 

By all means, then, let the pig be sprinkled. 
All quadrupeds are in Barcelona. If on the 
seventeenth day of January the Barcelonese will 



SAN ANTONIO ABAD. 229 

ri(15 his horse or his ass three times around the 
church of San Antonio Abad — with braided tail 
and mane woven with flowers — with a huge tor- 
^e// loaf of bread hung at his saddle-bow — and 
himself in a red cap, sheepskin jacket and leather 
shorts ; and if he will come to a halt before the 
church steps, while a priest reads a prayer over 
man and ass, and another throws holy water in 
both their faces ; and if he will then draw out 
his leathern pouch, and pay into the holy man's 
hands tuppence ha'penny ; and after having paid 
down his coppers and received into the bargain 
a picture of San Antonio Abad himself, together 
with a printed account of the good saint's power 
in interceding for all Cliristian muleteers and 
jackasses at the throne of the Blessed Virgin, he 
will then back out of the scene as quickly as 
whip and spur and heaven can help him so to do, 
and will moreover cut down the street and 
through half the town as if the devil himself 
were after him to wipe off the sacramental drops 
ere they were dry in the hair — then 1 say, that 
neither his horse, nor his ass, nor his mule shall 



230 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

lit his foot against a stone from that day twetve- 
month. He shall not have horse-ail, nor stag- 
gers, nor any sort of murrain within the year. 
He shall not be fomidered, nor lose his wind. 
He shall not kick, nor bite, nor so much as flirt 
his tail, except in fly-time. San Antonio Abad 
answers for it all. Only one thing, unfortu- 
nately, he does not undertake to guaranty — and 
that is to stop a jackas.s from braying whenever 
it may suit his pleasure. 

Let the quadrupeds be blessed then. Only the 
ass, I think, might as well be left out. He is too 
stupid an animal to be at all afflicted by benedic- 
tions. He knows only one sort of water — and 
that is drinking water. Shake the holy broom 
over his head, or the cowhide, still he brays. Be 
the ground under his feet sacred or profane, it 
makes no difference, he brays still. When at the 
hour of vespers you are listening to the nun's low 
chant ; or when, the pealing organ done, the sol- 
emn silence is broken only by the whispered 
prayer of the kneeling worshippers — Enlalia 
Purisima! — what a di?tbolical concert is sud- 



BRAYING. 231 

deiily set up by the asses waiting at the church 
doors ! Or when in the stillj^ night the melan- 
choly lover is pouring out his teaderest plaint 
beneath the balcony of his lady fair, and his spent 
soul is breathing forth its last soft sigh — Santa 
Maria Dolorosa! — what a longer drawn wail, 
what a more powerful sighing comes from the 
belly of some neighboring and no less distressed 
donkey ! In a country where so much time is 
spent either before the altar or beneath the bal- 
cony ; and where there is at least a pair of jack- 
asses to every couple of saints and lovers, this 
braying becomes an intolerable nuisance. If San 
Antonio Abad were worth a fig, he would put a 
stop to it. 



•*» 



XX. 

THE CARNIYAL. 

The Barcelonese Carnival is to that of Spain 
wliat the Roman is to Italy. Bacchus with a 
long retinue of Fauns and Satyrs always pays 
the Catalonian capital a visit at this season ; and 
Yenus is there too with her train of Loves and 
G-races. Both of them, however, conduct them- 
selves with so much more sobriety than they for- 
merly did at the Grecian festivals, that they can 
hardly be recognised as the same personages. 
Still, fun and frolic are let pretty freely loose in 
the streets ; and even Castilian gravity comes out 
in bells and a Tom-fool's cap. 

During the daytime there are processions 
through the streets, with masks, music and ban- 
ners. Fraternities of odd fellows, and good fel- 
lows, and all sorts of fellows, parade their youth- 



BALLS. 233 

ful follies and idiosyncracies in the face of day 
and of all the people. And he is the very best 
fellow of them all who wears the most fantastic 
apparel, who bears the wittiest motto, who makes 
the most absurd harangues, who utters the most 
unpardonable puns. The gipsy beaux too are 
out on horseback ; not clad in rags and skins, 
but for once in ruffled shirts, plumed hats, jack- 
ets of broadclotli, and having their horses' tails 
braidgd with ribbons and roses. Colossal figures 
representing the g-enii loci, are borne about the 
town upon men's shoulders ; or are drawn in 
state in immense gilded chariots, hung with flow- 
ers. Bands of music go before ; the most gor- 
geous or the most grotesque of bodyguards ac- 
company the divinities ; and the whole rabble of 
the town comes after. The wheels of business 
are made for two or three days to stand still; 
and only the car of pleasure rolls unhindered 
through the city. 

At night, everybody goes to the assemblies. 
All the theatres and halls are converted into ball- 
rooms. Even the merchants are turned out of 



234 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

the excliange, and its beautiful apartments are 
appropriated to the dancers. But the centre of 
attraction is the opera-house. This, which the 
Barcelonese will tell you is the largest one in the 
world, is fitted up with a temporary floor, and 
consecrated to masking from midnight until morn- 
ing. The galleries are crowded with spectators ; 
two orchestras, containing each a hundred per- 
formers, are placed at either extremity of the 
immense saloon ; and as gay a gallop goes over 
these boards as can be seen anywhere in Chris- 
tendom. 

The price of admission having formerly been 
higher, it was then attended only by the more fash- 
ionable classes of society. Now all the Barcelon- 
ese world is there, both high and low. The pleas- 
ure is participated in by a greater number ; but 
the ftin, if more vulgar, is none the less hearty. 
What the dresses may have lost in elegance they 
have gained in variety. The fashionable ladies, 
who now attend as spectators chiefly, do not mind 
if their silks be a little dingy ; and the ra^azza 
is only too happy to dance in cambric or in cal- 



RAGAZZAS. 235 

ico. In ORG or the otlier she will be sure to bo 
there ; for she would go threadbare during half 
the year rather than not have a neat new dress 
for the carnival. She will be there, and polking 
it with an abandon^ the very grace of ecstasy. 
Though her skirts will not be of gauze, nor 
wrought with silver or with gold, still none will 
wave more briskly ; none will be thrown to a 
better elevation. She will not be clasped by a 
zone of gems, nor wear jewels in her hair ; but 
her curls will be fastened by the Catalonian bod- 
kin ; her ears will be hung with Moorish rings ; 
and her lover — for of course she is blessed with 
one — will have planted a nosegay in her well- 
rounded bosom. 

But our ragazza has already flown by in the 
waltz — and lo ! here comes a throng of dancers 
gayer than the rest. The ladies in it wear no 
disguise excepting the domino noir. But the 
gentlemen are in costumes the most bizarres. 
They are all nose, or all mustache. You see 
beards whicli arc longer than those of hermits ; 
shirt collars which overtop the ears ; coat-tails 



.236 COSAS DE ERPANA. 

which reach to the ankles ; conical caps a yard 
high ; harlequin's bells, devil's tails, satyr's hoofs, 
ox-horns. By two or three hours past midnight, 
the mirth grows a little boisterous. The laugh 
gets to be as loud as the music ; and for the rest 
of the night, the dance goes faster and faster 
round till morning. 

Let us escape to a box. There you can sit 
masked or unmasked — in burlesque or in black 
— and look down upon the furore of the gallop- 
ing. You will not sit long before those two 
ladies in black silk masks, and loose silk robes 
of the same material, will honor you with their 
salutations. You know by their dress that they 
are not here to dance, but simply to greet their 
acquaintances, and to tell under cover of a domi- 
no some truths which they might blush to confess ^ 
without one. They will endeavor to disguise 
their voices as well as their persons. But you 
will recognise the soft Andalusfan accent of one 
of them. Those lips never did betray, and can 
not now deceive you. You steal her secret out 
of her heart the moment she begins to speak. 



VIOLETS. 237 

But ill return you pour forth a headlong torrent 
of Castilian vows and compliments. You kiss 
her hand — at least you may say so in Spanish; 
and when she takes her leave, not actually to 
throw yourself at her feet, you will address to her 
the polite adieu of A los pies de V. Senora. She 
is gone. But the wisp of violets left behind in 
your hand brings the pleasures of the night to 
their climax ; and with nothing further to wish 
or hope for, you straightway retire. 



XXL 

A MOCK BULL-FIGHT. 

The province of Catalonia hangs upon the 
Spanish monarchy by the eyelids, threatening 
upon the recurrence of every revolutionary agi- 
tation to fall off altogether. Especially the lower 
classes of the capital are turbulent, disloyal, and 
democratic. They always stand with their toes 
well over the mark of revolt ; and their passions 
once kindled into action, they would not at any 
time object to reddening their knives in the blood 
of the aristos who rule over them. Hence Bar- 
celona has been under martial law for the last 
quarter of a century ! The stranger who has re- 
sided perhaps a long time in the city, is some 
day surprised to learn the fact that the captain- 
general of the province has the power of arrest- 



CABBAGE REBELLION. 239 

ing, trying and shooting, any inhabitant accused 
of conspiring against the public peace and the 
government of Queen Isabella. But so it is ; and 
so it may be for another quarter of a century. 
Life and property here require the constant pro- 
tection of from ten to twenty thousand bayonets ; 
and the loyalty of tbe province is secured by con- 
centrating in it about one half of the whole mili- 
tary force of the country. 

The winter I was in Barcelona, the town very 
narrowly escaped a cabbage rebellion. The gov- 
ernment at Madrid had raised the tariff of duties 
on vegetables at the gates of all the great towns. 
But as the lower classes eat no meats, the meas- 
ure operated as an increased tax on the food of 
the poor. The first effect of the very foolish as 
well as very wrongful edict was, that not a cab- 
bage or a potato was ])rought to the gates of a 
single Spanish city. The citizens had to go to 
the country to buy their vegetables as best they 
could of the peasantry, who, with great unanim- 
ity, refused to pay the additional tax for the priv- 
ilege of selling them in town. The peasants held 



240 ' COSAS DE ESPANA. 

out until the populace were reduced to the bor- 
ders of desperation. The lower Barcelonese, 
taking the lead, were in commotion. They are 
always bloodthirsty, and now they were getting 
hungry besides. They were out of garlic. And 
had the news of the revocation of the obnoxious 
decrees not come in as it did to allay the popular , 
ferment, the lower classes would have risen upon 
the higher with the same knives with which they 
had peeled their last onions. 

So afraid are the Barcelonese authorities of 
this tendency to rebellion in the populace, that 
they no longer dare to grant them the entertain- 
ment of their favorite Fiestas de Toros, or festi- 
vals of bulls. They remember that a few years 
ago, the popular fury, aroused by the sight of the 
blood of beasts, could with difficulty be restrained 
from seeking to slake its thirst in that of men. 
Since that time there have been no bull-fights in 
Barcelona, except sham ones. These, as nobody 
is expected to be killed in them, neither bulls, 
horses, nor men, are not considered dangerous 
to the public peace. They do not rouse the blood 



TEATRO dp: toros. 241 

of the spectiitors to the boiling point, as do the 
real bull-feasts. i\jid the more so, as they are 
not, like the latter entertainments, held in smn- 
mer, when the blood of both men and brutes is 
rarely much below fever heat, but in the cold- 
blooded season of winter. 

Accordingly, the traveller can have a chance 
of seeing the mock fiesta at Barcelona, if he likes ; 
though compared with the great national solem- 
nity as performed at Madrid or Seville, I fancy 
it must be something like a hanging at which the 
culprit is reprieved. However, I for one, went 
to the sham fight. And all the world of Barce- 
lona went with me. For hours before the com- 
mencement of the spectacle, the principal streets 
leading to tlie scene of combat were filled with a 
gay throng of all classes and ages, their steps 
quickened and their faces lighted up with antici- 
pated pleasure. As it was a Sunday afternoon, 
all the rout was in liolyday attire, making the 
march as gay as a triumpli. The city gates were 
hardly wide enough to let them out. The Teatro 

de Toros, whither the brilliantly clad column was 

11 



242 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

tending', is an am|)hi theatre situated just without 
one of the city gates, and near the station house 
of the first railway constructed in Spain. Strange 
that the barbaric shows of times gone by can still 
be set up within sound of the whistle of modern 
civilization ! But here is the theatre of the bull- 
fight within a stone's throw of the railway, the 
gas works, and the grand quay of the port. So 
tenacious is the Spaniard of old customs, and the 
game of blood ! The edifice is built on the model 
of the Roman amphitheatre, and is capable of 
containing several thousand spectators. Yet it is 
a wooden coliseum, with no pretensions to any 
beauty of architectural details. Its only ornament 
is the gayly dressed crowd — the red cap, cloak, 
and mocado of the lower classes ; the silks, velvets, 
and laces of the higher ; the uniform and bayonets 
of the guardsmen ; the tapestry and gilded state of 
the loge gubernatorial. The prices are arranged 
to suit all purses, from the caballero's to the beg- 
gar's. The one sits in the shade at many more 
times the expense of the other in the sun. The 
sun, in fact, is always on the side of the beggar 



BULL!^. 2-13 

in Spain — its light being so common tliat it is 
considered a mark of gentility to keep out of it. 
In summer the hidalgo may be on the right side 
of the question; but, by the well-adjusted laws 
of compensation, the pobre who goes to the feast 
of bulls in winter, has decidedly the best of the 
bargain. 

At any rate, there they sit : the poor fellow in 
light, and the rich one in shade, impatient botli 
for the beginning of the entertainment. At 
length, the bugles sound. The chulos, in fantas- 
tic dress, and bearing banners, enter by a side 
door, and march up to the corregidor's seat to 
make their obeisance. These having afterward 
taken their places in the arena, another flourish 
of trumpets announces the entrance of the picador 
on a gayly-caparisoned steed. With plumed hat 
in hand, he rides up to the gubernatorial seat, 
where he presents his knightly homage ; and 
then galloping around the circuit of the ring, he 
receives, in return, the applause of the populace. 
Again the trumpets bray out — the folding gates 
are opened — and in bounds the bull. He is a 



244 COSAS DE ESPAIS'A. 

novillo, and has his horns tipt with balls. There- 
fore, let no gentle reader faint. There may be 
some little show of blood, and some ugly sensa- 
tions felt about the ribs of a chulo or two. But 
no lives will be taken ; for the buttoned horns 
can not gore the charger's flanks ; and the two 
or three years old hoofs have not the heavy tread 
of those of a leader of the herd. So, courage — 
and let us see the fight. 

The furious animal rushes through the gates, 
head down and tail in the air. But at either 
side of the entrance his tormentors lie in wait for 
him. They have their hands full of small barbed 
darts, with short handles, decked with ribbons. 
These are to be hurled into the sides of the bull's 
neck, to worry him. At his very first bound into 
the arena, he receives one of these missiles on 
either side. Maddened by the sting, he turns 
upon his persecutors. They fly — they dodge his 
thrusts — they leap over the barriers. A chulo, 
in harlequin's dress and bells, waves his red ban- 
ner to attract the enraged animal away from the 
fugitives. Another shakes his scarf at him, just 



STEEDS. 245 

as he is making a sally against the banner. A 
cloak is thrown in to save the scarf. Meanwhile, 
the barbed shafts are flying thick and fast into 
the poor brute's neck. He roars with rage and 
agony. He scatters his foes in all directions. 
He drives them out of the ring. 

Then comes to the charge the mounted picador. 
He, too, is armed with javelins ; and riding boldly 
by the side of tlie cantering beast, with well- 
directed aim, lie drives them home, until the 
bleeding neck is hung with arrows as with a 
double mane. At intervals, the bull, fearless of 
the threatening spear, makes an onset, witli all 
his forces. But for the preventing balls, his 
horns would gore and rip uj) the unprotected 
flanks of his enemy, letting out his entrails to 
drag upon the ground, and be torn by the noble 
steed's own hoofs. As it is, the blood which 
stains the charger's sides comes from the bull's 
neck, and not out of his own belly. Horse and 
. rider easily escape unharmed from the well-balled 
horns. Only the too venturesome chulo^ who 
seizes tlie novillo by the horns, may be thrown 



246 COSAS DE ESP AN A. 

down, and even trodden under foot, if he be over- 
mastered. 'In that case, he is withdrawn from 
his perilous situation, as soon as may be, by his 
companions, and carried off to the room of the 
attending surgeon, who, armed, as in the days 
of Dr. Sangrado, with lancet and hot water, 
stands ready to finish the task commenced in 
the arena. ^ 

When the poor bull has been bullied to all 
hearts' content, he is given over to the Matadores 
and their assistants. These rush in upon him ; 
and seizing him, one by the horns, another by 
the tail, and the rest as best they can, they hold 
him fast. The arrows are then drawn out of his 
bleeding neck ; and relieved of these uncomfort- 
able ornaments, he is dragged or driven off the 
scene of action. The hurrahs or the hoots of the 
populace follow him to the gates, according as he 
has shown the red feather or the white one. For 
only two or three out of the half dozen tyros 
which were exhibited, proved themselves to be 
from the pastures of the Jarama. The rest 
evinced a marked dislike of the part they were 



HARLEQUINS. 247 

invited to play in. One, the very moment of en- 
tering the arena, looked around upon the hissing 
and hooting crowd, as if amazed and confounded 
by the unusual spectacle, or by the unfavorable 
reception. Another, after receiving a javelin or 
two, turned out to be an arrant coward, and 
would not fight on any terms whatever. A third 
ran roaring away from his pursuers, seeking in 
vain at every gate to get out of a scrape he had 
no fancy for, and only turning from sheer disgust 
"* to make an occasional onset on the harlequins 
who took indecent liberties with the tail of his 
person. 

On the whole, the play went off to the general 
satisfaction. A battalion of soldiers kept the 
red-caps from drawing knives, and made them 
rest contented witli what little blood ran down 
the necks of tlie embolados. They had besides 
the pleasure of seeing one poor fellow's ribs 
roughly tickled ; one fooFs cap tossed into the 
air ; a scarf or two badly ripped up ; and the 
cloak of a terrified chulo pinned to the wall by 
the bull's liorns, as the fugitive was clambering 



248 cos AS DE ESPANA. ' 

for safety over tlie barrier. Every home thrust 
was acknowledged with applause ; every feat of 
dexterity or show of courage, whether on the 
part of the four or the two-legged animals, drew 
forth a peal of bravos and bravisimos. 

As nobody was killed or run through, no lady 
had a pretext for fainting. Not a scream was 
heard. Not a fan was raised before the eyes. 
Even the English ladies present did not go into 
hysterics, but looked on with the sang- froid for 
which they are so celebrated on the continent. 
Still, unless I am greatly mistaken, there was 
some killing done in the boxes. There were no- 
bler hearts struck there than any which were ex- 
posed in the ring. For the bull-iight, be it mock 
or serious, is not an occasion to be let slip by the 
fair one, who goes to it armed with daggers both 
in her eyes and garters. I met there also belles 
from other climes, the fairest blondes of the north- 
ern winter, who, mingling with the brunettes of 
the terra caliente, had learned^ their arts', and 
went likewise armed to the knees. These, too, 
are dangerous to be met with at bull-fights. In 



FANS. 249 

fact, ail addition of a few heads of auburn, and 
eyes of blue to the dark beauty of a gallery of 
Spanish Seiioras and Senoritas, makes a battery 
of charms the most formidable that can be imag- 
ined. The principal instrument, however, of 
Spanish coquetry, whether at the feast of bulls, 
or any other sort of feasts, is the fan. In the 
little hand of a Seilora of the South, the abanico 
is as wonder-working an instrument as a rod in 
the grasp of a wizard, or a sceptre in that of a 
king. It signifies everything — it signifies noth- 
ing. All depends on the way in which it is flirt- 
ed. And there are a thousand ways. Yet not 
one of them can be described in words. Utterly 
impossible ! But when you see a fan beckoning 
to you, you know at once what it means. Only 
a simpleton would fail of understanding this lan- 
guage of natural signs the very first lesson that 
was given him in it. You must be a perfect 
blockhead to force a lady to drop her fan, in 
order to intimate to you that she takes a lively 
interest in your welfare. That is the last motion 
she ever gives it. It is the greatest manoeuvre 

n* 



250 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

capable of being executed with a fan — to drop 
it. If it is in a war of self-defence that she re- 
sorts to this use of the weapon, you ought to 
know that she has come to the final struggle. 
In fact, it is no more nor less than a proposition 
to surrender. It is the hauling down of the flag 
of the fortress. Then is your time ! Seize it 
like a man — for in another moment you may be 
for ever too late. Rush in at the open gates of 
the citadel of the heart : aiid hold it against all 
comers — as long as you can. 



XXII. 

OLLA PODRIDA. 

For the rest — the Catalonian is not a Span- 
iard. Put to him the question, V. es Espanol? 
and he will reply, iVo, soi Catalan. He is more 
proud of his province than of his country ; and 
esteems himself better and braver than any full- 
blooded Castilian. Neither were his fathers ever 
Spaniards. He traces his pedigree back to the 
Celtiberian family ; he boasts that his province, 
after the expulsion of the Moors, enjoyed a cen- 
tury of sovereignty ; and he regrets to this day 
the marriage of Ramon Berenguer lY. with the 
heiress of Ramiro el Monje, whereby Catalonia 
became united with Aragon. 

The Catalonian speaks a language which is not 
a dialect of the Spanish, as is the case in the 



252 COSAS DE E8PANA. 

other provinces, but an independent tongue, with 
a separate literature. Formed in the process of 
time by a mingling of the Gallic and. the Iberian, 
mainly, it is a mixed border language. It is 
always used by the Catalonians in their inter- 
course with each other; though in conversing 
with Spaniards, they employ the Castilian. This 
latter is taught in the schools, as a foreign tongue, 
and is not understood by a considerable portion 
of the peasantry. 

This difference of language is one of the prin- 
cipal reasons of the comparative feebleness of the 
bond by which this province is bound up in the 
bundle of the once independent states which now 
compose the kingdom of the Spains. Another 
cause of estrangement is to be found in a sup- 
posed conflict of interests betweenllie manufac- 
turing district, of which Barcelona is the ca|3ital, 
and the rest of the country, which is mainly agri- 
cultural. The northeast of Spain is its. Jia5F 
England. This is emphatically the seat of Span- 
ish industry, compared with which the Andalu- 
sian South is a land of rnQrefaineans. The Bar- 



CATALONIAN INDUSTRY. 253 

celoncse aver that the annual import of raw cot- 
ton into their port amounts to. some thirty or 
forty thousand bales. Their factories, originally 
set up by English artisans, are stocked with the 
best of English machinery, and are as well man- 
aged as similar establishments in other countries. 
The annual exhibition of goods manufactured in 
the city and province makes a display of cottons, 
woollens, and silks, which promise ere long to 
rival in quality those of France and England. 

The CaMonians^ therefore, are great clamor- 
ers for the protection of home industry by means 
of a high tariff of duties. On the other hand, the 
vine-growing districts of the South, and the corn- 
producing provinces of the North, prefer to be 
dependent on foreign manufactures. They, also, 
accuse the Barcelonese of being more engaged 
in smuggling than they are in manufacturing ; 
and of using their factories as blinds for introdu- 
cing the products of France contrary to law. The 
charge may not be altogether groundless. But 
as smuggling is a great and established business 
in Spain— a business which is said to fill the 



254 COSAS DE espaNa. 

p^ockets of the government officials, from the first 
minister of the crown down to the janitor of the 
customhouse — it is not incredible that the man- 
ufacturers, likewise, may be more or less engaged 
m^lX'. Formerly, the foreign goods were intro- 
duced principally through Gibraltar and the Pyr- 
enees ; but now that the illicit traffic has become 
so little disreputable, it is said to be carried on 
by connivance of the keepers of the customs. 

In a population of .a^bimtQMhttMK.g^^^ fifty 
thousan^j Barcelona contains from twenty to 
thirty thousand permanent French residents, who 
render the' city still less Spanish than it would 
be otherwise. These immigrants brins* with them 
the arts and fashions of a civilization superior to 
rhat of the peninsula. Egj£tatg»aai[i.Mnnets, ae- 
cordingly, are nowadays seen mingled with the 
cloaks and the mantillas. Coffee is getting to be 
more drank than chocolate. The fricassee is ri- 
valling the oUa. The French doctor is bringing 
his eau de Seltz into competition with the hot 
water of Dr. Sangrado ; and the French social- 
ist is nightly haranguing at tlie cafes against tlie 



ATTACK ON QUEEN's LIFE. 255 

priests, wlio, in turn, are weekly warning their 
flocks not to desert the ancient standards of re- 
ligion and loyalty. Indeed, opinions more or 
less socialistic have of late years become difiused 
not only in Barcelona, but through many of the 
larger commercial towns. Foreign politics have 
followed in the train of foreign trade and fash- 
ions. Still, as the great majority of the people 
continues to adhere to the reds and yellows of 
the national costume, so does it promise long to 
maintain its loyalty to the faith and throne of the 
Most Catholic of Majesties. 

The late attempt against the life of Queen Isa 
bella awoke a momentary feeling of loyal devo- 
tion even in the Barcelonese heart. The death 
of the sovereign, if unfortunately it had occurred 
in consequence of the assassin's blow, would have 
led to a most serious agitation throughout the 
country, if not to a revolution of the state. The 
first feeling would have been an irresistible de- 
sire, on the part of the lower classes, to avenge 
her murder. Strange as it may seem, not a 
priest's head would liave been safe in Catalonia, 



256 COSAS DE ESP AN A, 

if in Spain. As it was, the moment it was known 
in Barcelona that the ineffectual blow had been 
dealt by a consecrated hand, the clergy were in 
so great trepidation that many of them went to 
the ofdces of the foreign consuls to seek that pro- 
tection for their lives which they feared could 
not be afforded by their own sanctuaries. So 
blind, in truth, is the superstition of the lower 
classes throughout the country that the same 
fanaticism which holds all foreign faiths in abom- 
ination, may be led, in a moment of passion, to 
plunge its knife into the breast of its own mother 
church. 

As none would have been more ready than the 
Barcelonese to avenge the assassination of their 
sovereign, so none were more disposed for a holy- 
day, on the late occasion of the birth of an heiress 
to the throne. A stranger who did not know 
that all the piping was paid for by the authorities 
of the city, might have been led to believe tlie 
citizens the most loyal of subjects. Days before 
the birth of the Infanta, the gazettes were filled 
with articles designed to prepare the public mlv.d 



BIRTH OF INFANTA. 257 

for what was to happen. Every morning for a 
week, it was announced by telegraph from Madrid 
that the interesting event had not taken place. 
Several false alarms were propagated in conse- 
quence of reports that her majesty was sick at 
the stomach, or had not taken her usual airing 
on the Prado. 

At Gerona, fondly called by all good haters of 
the French, the Immortal, the birth of a royal 
heir was prematurely announced by an impatient 
telegraph ; and before the error could be correct- 
ed, the guns had been fired, and all the cakes 
and ale consumed there were in the whole city. 
The Geronese, as it was surmised, fearing from 
the long delay tjiat the event might not come 
rightly off, were determined to make sure of a 
holyday. Then come a man-child, or come a 
mus, they could not be cheated out of the "jolli- 
fication" they had enjoyed in advance. 

The Barcelonese contrived to retain a little 
more patience. They had read in the principal 
newspaper of the town that the Holy Girdle of 
Tortosahad been recently presented to the queen 



258 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

— that famous girdle which had been originally 
left in the parish church of Tortosa by the Bles- 
sed Virgin, as a reward of the prayers and vigils 
of a certain pious monk of the olden time, and 
which had before been brought to the royal pal- 
ace by the Tortosa doctors of divinity to the 
great relief of majesties in perils of childbirth ! 
The Barcelonese, therefore, waited in faith of a 
certain and safe delivery — though holding their 
breath the while, as the time drew nearer. When 
at last, the long desired event was announced by 
gubernatorial proclamation, the guns were all let 
off at once ; the bells were rung ; the flags were 
hoisted ; the tapestry was hung out of the win- 
dows ; and the happy day was devoted to univer- 
sal merry-making. Everybody went to the Te 
Deum ; everybody went to the review of the gar- 
rison ; everybody put on their best doublet and 
hose, and went to the promenade. There was 
feasting in all the ventas ; there were stews in 
all the kitchens ; and there was a beggar's pot 
boiling wherever three stones could be laid to- 
gether. The evening brought a change of enter- 



CITY ILLUMIJfATED. 259 

tainmcnts, but no cessation. Then a grand illii- 
niiiiation took place, with a hanging out of tlic 
royal portraits in tJie Plaza de la Constitucion, 
together with the playing of all the national airs 
by the bands of the garrison. Amateur musi- 
cians, likewise, paraded the principal streets, all 
of wliicli were more or less lugubriously lighted 
up by huge wax tapers, apparently designed to 
last as long as Queen Isabella sliould bring forth 
children. In some situations where the lights 
were exposed to too much wind, the whole sur- 
face of the taper took fire ; and the populace were 
treated to the additional entertainment of seeing 
the awkward attempts of the menials to extin- 
guish them by means of wet mops. Several pal- 
aces, greatly to the popular delight, were decked 
out with colored lamps ; and that of the captain- 
general attracted great crowds to witness the 
mysterious writing on its walls in letters of gas. 
The whole population appeared to be let loose in 
the streets. And yet there were almost as many 
dancing within doors. Wherever there was 
elbow room enough to thrum a guitar or scrape 



260 COSAS DE ESP ANA. 

a fiddle, there was a fandango. In both halls 
and tents was heard the click, clack of castanets ; 
the dance went briskly rounds; the sandalled feet 
flew ; and '' no sleep till morn" was everywhere 
breathed from panting lips. 



XXIII. 

ADIEU, BARCELONA. 

And now in the midst of all thy gayeties, adieu, 
Barcelona — fairest of the^towns of Spain] I 
leave thy Rambla and thy sea-washed walk, thy 
green-swarded ramparts and thy Catalonian tow- 
ers, thy vine-hills and thy mountain tops of snow. 
Softer, they tell me, are the maids of Andalusia, 
and milder the airs of the Murcian shore. But 
thy Pyrenean skies have been a heaven to me, 
and the grace o£jhj veiled daughters has held 
my roving heart captive for ninety days ! 

Now ihoRvamos. Already I see before me, 
rismg up out of the southern sea, and beckoning 
me on, the minarets and the palm-trees of Valen- 
ciaT'^ 



XXIY. 

TO VALENCIA. 

The starting of the Yalencian diligencia from 
the great square of Barcelona is a spectacle for 
men and boys, if not for angels. The huge, pon- 
derous vehicle is itself a piece of joinery which, 
if exhibited as a curiosity in any of our states, 
not too far south, or west, would bring a shilling 
per head quick. It has the air of an old stager, 
indeed. Yet, though on its last spokes, it, like 
all veterans, dies hard. Its well-patched ap- 
pearance indicates that it has passed through 
many hair-breadth 'scapes, and accidents by flood 
and field. But no turning of somersets, no get- 
ting stuck in the mud, no involuntary voyages 
down the mountain torrents have ever succeeded 
in dislocating its original timbers. There it 



A DIL.GKNCIA. 21)3 

stands — its leathern top clouted like old shoes 
— its body as unwashed as the great body of the 
Spanish people — and its interior crammed full 
of men, women and babies, every one of the for- 
mer of whom, before taking his place, has made 
his last will and testament, and got an insurance 
on his ribs for double theii' value. 

For the last hour, all have been packed, pas- 
sengers and luggage. But there is bad luck in 
starting in a hurry in Spain. No cor re priesa. 
The postillions are mounted; — let them have 
their nap out. The mules, too, the whole eight 
of them, are asleep, each on his three legs. All 
— passengers, postillions and mules — are waiting 
for the conductor, with his mail-bags. 

Here he comes. One leap — and he is on his 
box. The tail of his cap reaches the small of 
his back ; and his moustache mounts, scarcely 
less than the length of his cap, in the air. A 
volley of preparatory oaths and invocations clears 
the road of boys, beggars, and bystanders. And 
410W vamos I Crack your whip, cochero ; go it, 
ropes ! The conductor swears and shouts at the 



264 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

top of his voice ; the postillions put the spurs into 
the poor brutes' sides ; and a runner, keeping- 
pace with the cantering caravan, plays the lash 
most dexterously about backs and bellies. The 
whole affair sweeps down the avenue " like mad." 
And, possibly, before they are well off the pave- 
ment, as uneven, in many parts of the town, as 
the rolling sea, a movement will take place in 
the stomachs of some of th^ travellers, analogous 
to that experienced by the passengers of a Dover 
and Calais steam-packet, on leaving the quay. 
A couple of heads, may be, are seen dangling out 
of each window in such a state of wretchedness 
as must throw the most compassionate and deco- 
rous of observers into an uncontrollable fit of 
laughter. So they go out of the town-gates — 
the passengers cascading — the postillions crack- 
ing their whips — the exhausted runner laying on 
his last blows — the conductor still calling upon 
the saints, and uttering over his poor brutes' 
heads half the imprecations contained in the ver- 
nacular. 

Once on the Queen's highway, the whole con- 



SCREW LOOSE. 265 

cci'ii would soon be lost sight of; for it goes down 

in the holes of the road like a ship in the troughs 

of the sea. You think they have all descended 

into the pit which has no bottom — mules, riders, 

and diligence. But, anon, you see them slowly 

staggering lip the next summit of the billowy 

road, all tight and right. Herein lies the great 

peculiarity of the Spanish stage-coach, that when 

it goes into the miref deep enough to bring it to a 

complete stand-still, everything about the machine 

gives, nothing breaks. The ropes stretch a 

point ; they don't part. The braces settle ; but 

the superincumbent body does not come to the 

ground. Anywhere out of Spain, a single screw 

left loose will bring a fall to the best-contrived 

vehicle, as well as the* most upright-standing man 

or woman ; but, here, nothing is more common, 

at least, in the case of diligences, than for them 

to have all their screws loose at once. Then 

they go the fastest. Tlie matter may not be quite 

comprehensible — 'tis a cosa de Espana. 

Of course, I did not myself go to Valencia in 

the diligencia. By no means. I waited a week, 

12 



266 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

and went by my good ship, the Barcino. I was 
desirous of making one more voyage in company 
with my friend, the Don. And there, sure 
enough, he still was, doing battle on the panel 
with the pig-skins ; and there was Sancho Panza 
standing aghast alike at the fury of his master, 
and the loss of the liquor. The good knight, 
now that I had become familiar with him, and 
his trusty squire, in the streets of Barcelona, 
seemed to me more like life — Spanish life — than 
ever. This was true also of the innkeeper, and 
the innkeeper's two princesses, and the half dozen 
fellows who had tossed Sancho Panza in the blan- 
ket. Accordingly, we were at once " hale fellow 
well met." 

After the other passengers had retired for the 
night, the cloth was laid for our supper. The 
Don came down from his door, and was placed at 
the head of the table, though in his shirt-tails. 

An Ostende rabbit had been ordered to be 
stewed expressly for Sancho Panza, as the best 
thing to stop his mouth, and put an end to his 
proverbs. Sancho at sea, by the way, proved to 



DON QUIXOTE AGAIN. 2It7 

be a good deal of a Jonah, and would inevitably 
have sunk the ship from the exceeding weight 
of his sayings, had not his attention been adroitly 
turned to something he relished even better than 
his own puns. The innkeeper, after placing his 
damsels each on one side of the worshipful, though 
somewhat disconcerted knight of La Mancha, set 
himself down as my right-hand man ; and the 
way in which we all drew on the only remaining 
skin of his well-preserved Benicarlo was worthy 
of the very best days of Spanish history. I must 
do mine host the justice to say — and I do it most 
cheerfully — that excepting myself, of course, he 
was the last of the party to go under the table ; 
while Sancho Panza, I regret to add, led the way 
— falling off with a half-finished proverb on his 
lips, and in a manner highly derogatory to the 
dignity of a personage who was one day to be the 
governor of an island. The Don disappeared 
from the table soon after the ladies ; and it is not 
known what became of him. Not a little nettled 
he seemed, as I thought, toward the close of the 
'sitting, that nobody would believe a word of wha,t 



268 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

he repeatedly affirmed respecting the beautiful 
foot of Dulcinea del Toboso. Yery likely, he 
went back before morning to his panel. I can 
simply say that when I arose from my seat at the 
supper-table, neither he, nor any other of the 
guests, was there to wish me buenas tardes ; and 
that on awaking next morning, the only thing I 
noticed was the fact that the Barcino was drop- 
ping anchor in the roadstead of Valencia. 



XXY. 

SPANISH BREAKERS. 

It was blowing a small gale of wind ; for the 
Mediterranean is a moody sea, changing some- 
times very quickly from smiles to frowns. A 
gale of wind, and no harbor at Valencia, or with- 
in a hundred miles of it ; such is the inhospitality 
of this rock-bound, though beautiful coast. There- 
fore, I had my choice between continuing on to 
Alicante, witli a chance of meeting no better luck, 
and being obliged to go even to Cartegena, and 
the extremest south, or of landing in an open 
boat in the breakers. I had much more time for 
reflection than was needed for decirling a ques- 
tion which had for me, in fact, but one side to it. 
Yet, hour after hour passed away ; and no boat 



270 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

was seen pushing off from the shore. No good 
comes from hurrying in Spain. El que se apre- 
sura se muere ; y el que no, tarn Men. He who 
hurries, dies ; and he who does not, dies too. The 
sea was running so high on the beach that the 
boatmen had a good excuse for their dilatoriness, 
and kept us waiting full half a day. 

At length, just as I was making up my mind 
that they would not come at all, off they shoved. 
It was a good-sized barge, with a dozen or twen- 
ty lusty fellows, in red caps, at the oars. We 
were lying about three quarters of a mile from 
the shore ; and the boat, now tossed to the top 
of the waves, and now completely lost to view in 
the hollow, took, as it seemed to our impatience, 
a small fraction of an eternity to get to us. The 
rowers were, doubtless, taking it fair and easy, 
and husbanding their strength for the final pull 
among the breakers, on their return. At last 
they got alongside, when began the labor of let- 
ting down the ship's sides into the uneasy barge 
below the luggage and the ladies. The former 
was badly thumped, and the latter worse fright- 



A SEA-SICK VALENCIANA. 271 

ened. It took the Spanish brown out of a good 
many cheeks — making one or two, in particu- 
lar, as white as if they had been washed in good 
soap and water. ^ 

Everything, at last, was tumbled into the boat, 
and stowed away — men, women, trunks, boxes, 
bags, and umbrellas. I was so seated as to have 
one of the latter articles, belonging to a very ner- 
vous native, playing, at intervals, the amusing 
part of a catapult against my right flank. But 
to distract my attention from these attacks, I had, 
on the side nearest my heart, the most.gracje&iL- 
littla^Yalgjiciana I ever came jn^contact with. 
At the very first pitch of the boat after leaving 
the steamer, she began to cling to me as for dear 
life. Another pitch — and if it had been for dear . 
love, she could not have grasped my arm tighter. 
One more — 0, frailty, thy name is woman — the 
left leg of my trousers was ruined for ever ! 
Cloak, trouser, and boot, all deluged by a 
cascade from lips^ which, a moment before, 
seemed to have been made only for kissing ! 
My interest in a damsel, the loveliest jn_a^land 



272 cos AS DE ESPANA. 

where all are fair, in an instant of time com- 
pletely " swamped;" and my left leg worse than 
water-logged ! 

It is said to be one of the virtues of a travelled 
man to take things as they come. So did I take 
this. Had all my best china ware come down at 
a crash, I could not have received the shock with 
more sang- froid. The most critical observer 
would not have known by any twitch of my face- 
muscles that the avalanche of so great a misfor- 
tune had fallen upon me. I knew that my left 
trouser leg was inevitably ruined, but I made no 
sign. I simply held myself the firmer up under 
the weight of the leaning beauty, who was thus 
making me the recipient of a shower of favors I 
had not solicited. However, some little relief 
was destined to come speedily. 

The barge was now nearing the shore. We 
were getting into the breakers. " Pull, boys, 
pull !" cried half a dozen helmsmen at once. 
Now, indeed, is your time — the wave is after us 
— the roaring wave is close upon us — another 
instant, and we sliall be whelmed in the deep. 



TERRA f'ALIENTE. 273 

" Pull right ! pull left ! pull, for the love of God ! 
pull !" 

We escaped. Just the curling crest of the 
heavy billow broke over the boat's stern — as 
Tarn O'Shanter's mare saved herself from the 
curlin with loss of her tail. 

But it was in the stern that I sat with my fair 
burden ; and as the good sea-nymph would have 
it, there was sufficient brine thrown over me to 
wash well my soiled garments. I had, in fact^ a 
lapful of it. But I never in my life was more in 
need of a ducking ; and took it, under the cir- 
cumstances, as a special favor of the Naiad 
charged with doing the washing of the Mediter- 
ranean. 

Safe, at length, from the perils of the sea, and 
the perils of beauty, I set my foot on the Yalen- 
cian shore, a grateful, though thoroughly-drenched 
man. To tell the truth, I planted my foot on the 
terra caliente with something analogous to a 
shiver. There was no help for me. At least, 
there was none on the beach, where I had to fight 

my way through the ranks of almost as bad a set 

12* 



274 COSAS DE ESP AN A. 

of beggars as those who made the attack on me 
at the port of Barcelona. But this time I con- 
tended with the desperation of a man having his 
lap full of cold sea-water. I put the whole legion 
to route with simply my umbrella ; and pitching 
into the first cart which offered itself, I cried out 
to the cochero to let loose his leader. 

Vain attempt to hurry a native-born Iberian. 
El que se apresura se muere; y el que no ^ tarn 
bien. Belies, the road win'ch led to the city 
^was so shockingly bad, and the cart in which I 
was conveyed thither so destitute of springs, that 
to drive at any other pace than a walk would 
have been probable death both to horse and pas- 
senger. Yet the stranger is told that this is the 
favorite summer promenade of the fashion of 
Valencia. Everybody then goes to the Grao to 
bathe in the blue, now mud-colored waters of the 
sea. The ladies hold their court in the pellucid 
waves; and a revelry is kept up in the cooling 
element equal to any gambolling of the ancient 
nymphs and sea-gods. But my case was differ- 
ent. My bath had been an involuntary one, and 



FONDA DEL CID. 276 

had been taken at an altogether too low a tem- 
perature to be agreeable. As I sat in my cart, 
wet and dripping, the way seemed to me any- 
thing but a pleasure-drive ; and as I passed 
through the gates of this heaven of the Moors, 
my bones shook like those of a poor soul enter- 
ing a polar purgatory. What happened to Cas- 
sar " when he was in Spain," happened likewise 
to me. 

" 'Tis true this god did shake." 

The Fonda del Cid received and restored me. 
No blazing fire, indeed, welcomed me to a hospi- 
table hearth ; nor any register let in upon me 
a drying summer gale. But a simple change 
of raiment set me up ; and a Spanish dinner, 
washed down by a bottle of French wine, made 
me as brave as the Cid, and twice as merry. I 
retired that night as good-natured a man as if I 
had not been dipped in cold sea-water in the 
course of the morning ; and lay cheerfully down 
to dream of the gorgeous days when the Moor 
her;} held his gilded court, mid flowers and 
fountains, and finally passed hence by an easy 



21^ cos AS DE ESP AN A. 

transit to the houris who beckoned to him from 
the walls of their overhanging heaven. "For," 
saith the record, " the Moors did locate their 
Paradise on the Yalencian shore, which was a 
fragment fallen from the Paradise in the sky." 



XXYL 

THE HUERTA AND THE ALAMEDA. 

Glorious dawn after showers ! How, as I 
awoke for the first time in Yalencia, the rising- 
sun streamed in at my eastern windows, gilding- 
whatever it touched, and lighting up with the full 
blaze of the southern morning both house and 
town. On my balcony of flowers, the rose leaves 
and the carnation cups were hung with drops as 
with diamondg. The fresh air had the sweet 
perfume of orange orchards and mountain violets. 
The firmament was transparent azure. It was 
my welcome to Valencia by the hourisj returned 
in the chariot of the rising sun from the distant 
skies whither they had gone to a revel on the 
day of my arrival. 

Though not given to steeple-chasing, I went 



278 COSAS DE ESP ANA. 

without loss of time to the top of the cathedral, 
to get a view of the town and surrounding coun- 
try. Imagine a large semi-circular plain, the 
circumference of which is hedged in by moun- 
tains, and the diameter formed by the sea. A 
radius drawn from the town to the mountains 
would be from fifteen to twenty miles in length, 
while the distance to the shore is from two to 
three. Valencia, accordingly, is situated iii an 
immense level garden, or huerta, sheltered on 
the north and west by a mountain range, and 
having a southeastern exposure to the Mediter- 
ranean. This whole huerta is irrigated by a net- 
work of canals, which are connected with the up- 
per springs and torrents — the work of the Moors. 
Hereby, every foot of land is supplied with abun- 
dant moisture, and being acted upon by the rays 
of an almost tropical sun, scarcely yields in pro- 
ductiveness to the banks of the Nile. When I saw 
the huerta, it being in early spring, a large pro- 
portion of that part of it lying in the immediate 
neighborhood of the town was waving with deep 
green wheat, about two feet in height. No fences 



PALM-TREES. 279 

divided tlie fields, but simply rows of mulberry 
and olive trees, with here and there a rose or 
cactus hedge. The straight, tapering stems of 
the palm-tree towered up out of many isolated 
groves, and hung out their tufted crowns over 
the city walls. Villas, villages, and towns, were 
thickly scattered over the plain ; while at its 
southern extremity stretched out the broad lake 
of Albufera. 

Nor was the city itself less picturesque. The 
flat roofs, and the movement on the house-tops, 
gave it an oriental aspect. I ts gild ed domes 
and minarets, piercing with a hundred points the 
sky, showed that it had once been the city of the 
Moor, who had left traces of his taste, as well as 
of his blood, behind him. The hum of business 
was scarcely loud enough to reach the cathedral's 
top ; but chimes of bells calling to prayer rang 
sweetly out of many a spire upon the sunny air. 
The scene — comprising town, plain, mountains, 
and the sea — remains one of the pleasantest of 
those daguerreotyped on my memory in Spain. 

Soon after my descent, the clock struck five — 



280 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

the liour for going to the Alameda. In Yalen- 
cia the world of fashion goes out of town to prom- 
enade on the banks of the Turia every day in the 
year between the hours of five and six. A tar- 
tana is waiting at the inn-door to take you thith- 
er. Indeed, there is always one waiting for you. 
Even after a whole morning spent in strolling, 
you will be accosted on your return with the 
question, if your Honor does not wish for a tar- 
tana. In other countries one is solicited to take 
a coach on going out of his hotel ; here, when 
coming into it. For the promenade to the Turia 
you accept the tartana, for it is not the ton to go 
on foot. All the gentle folk of Valencia keep 
carriages for the afternoon airing, and all of this 
particular species. 

But what, pray, is a tartana ? It is no more 
nor less than a covered two-wheeled cart. With- 
out springs, or with but apologies for them, with 
a polished leather top, a seat on either side, a 
window in front, and a door behind, it is the 
araha of the Orientals ; or, if you will, an omni- 
bus on two wheels, less the side windows. No 



CUPIDS. 281 

vehicle can well be conceived of more ugly, or 
inconvenient. Only the two persons sitting by 
the front windows have any chance of seeing or 
being seen — excepting such as may be contented 
to sit by the door, and survey the world from be- 
hind. Of the half a dozen seats, therefore, the 
two forward ones are the places of honor. Here 
are always placed the prettiest and most present- 
able ladies of the party. The plainer or inferior 
personages occupy the places next below ; and 
by the door sit the domestics and the duennas. 
In this cart the city belles promenade daily on 
tlie Alameda ; and never at any faster gait than 
a walk. 

But the Yalcncianas, if not fast, are fair. 
Sitting half hid behind their cart windows, and 
half concealed in their dai'k mantillas, they never 
fail of recognising all their acquaintances, or of 
showing themselves to all their admirers, and 
from their convenient ambush, they let fly their 
tiny, but fatal shafts right and left. Their eyes 
are reckoned among the most dangerous in all 
the.Spains. They are, indeed, the fit portals of 



282 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

Love, whence winged messengers fly out bearing 
invisible torches to inflame men's hearts. In the 
terra caliente hearts burn like stubble in the fields. 
Before a man's span of life has half run out, his 
left breast is like an exhausted crater, a mere 
receptacle for ashes. Nor even then — at least, 
if he comes to the Alameda — will the lovely 
cease from troubling him. They will inflame his 
very cinders. Kindled by a spark from their 
vestal orbs, the merest ash-heap of a bosom glows 
like a furnace. Nor is there any relief in sighing 
—it only blows the fire. As for tears, they can 
not be shed in Spain — they are so hot they pass 
ofi" in vapors ere getting half the length of your 
nose. The only efi'ectual remedy I ever heard 
of is, to run the country — and even that will 
sometimes fail. 

As I was saying, the Alameda lies on the banks 
of the Turia. In the narrow streets of the town, 
as closely packed as it was in the days of the 
Moors, and now containing upward of a hundred 
thousand inhabitants, there would be no room for 
the promenade. Hence the necessity for the -tar- 



FLOWERS. 283 

tanas, to take 3"oii through the unpaved streets, 
out of the gate of la Glorieta, and over the 
bridge del Mar to the pleasant river bank. Here 
within sight of the picturesque towers of Valen- 
cia's walls of tapia, you pass up and down the 
long avenues in one of a hundred carriages. 
The willow's graceful tresses droop by the way- 
side ; the tall pine spreads overhead its deep 
green foliage ; the silver poplars uncurl their 
leaves among the earliest of the spring ; the bam- 
boo shoots up its slender form ; and the palm, 
bearing on its head the glory of a hundred sea- 
sons, towers high above all. 

Or, leaving your carriage, you walk through 
the beautiful grounds and gardens, between rose 
and LemjDJi hedges^ beneath the fruit and flowers 
of the orange trees, mid beds of pinks and pop- 
pies, mid. geraniums, cactuses, and honej^suckles. 
Here, with the setting sun pouring its glowing 
rays into bower and arbor, gilding the city's 
domes, turning the mountain tops to purple and 
the sea to gold, how fair the scene of the Ya- 
lencian promenade ! A walk in this sylvan re- 



284 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

treat is very dijfferent from going down Broadway 
a-shopping. 

As to this New York alameda, it has now be- 
come to such a degree a thoroughfare for business 
that the most graceful lady can not pass along it 
— I'll except the upper part — without having the 
air of walking for a bargain. With one eye on 
the beaux, she has the other on the shop windows. 
She is evidently bent on spending her pin-money. 
Her pockets are full of ribbons ; and her boddice 
is stuffed — for aught you know — with unpaid 
shopkeepers' bills. If she passes you without 
notice do not deem it a slight — she is thinking 
of a purchase of laces. . If the smile of her greet- 
ing wear not its customary sweetness — ten to 
one, 'tis not because you have not called to pay 
your respects within the last fortnight, but merely 
because a silk she had set her heart upon has 
been sold to another. A lady's face in Broadway 
is no certain index to the state of her afiections, 
but is always liable to change its expression 
with the fluctuations of the markets. 

But the Yalencian alameda has nothing of the 



GREETINGS. 285 

market-place about it, save its greetings. Only 
the news of the day is told ; the pleasures of the 
evening are agreed upon. Here is society without 
ceremony ; and entertainment without expense. 
Within a few minut6s' drive, there is a pleasant 
change of air. The town is left behind with its 
cares and confinement ;. and the country receives 
you to groves and gardens. Beautiful Alamada.L 
Would that similar retreats could be planted in 
the neighborhood of our American towns, where 
a lady mi^lit take lior daily airifig^ without being 
covered ^^ith llie dust of the streets, "oFTiaving 
lersweet face croTrd^3ESEu^a^-5nanciaT.~ 



XXVIl. 

COCK-FIGHTING AND PIGEON-SHOOTING. 

In Yalencia, it is comme il faut to go to the 
cock-pit. This is a handsome little theatre on 
the banks of the Turia, where on two days in the 
week, particularly if they happen to be saints' 
days, the stranger may be entertained or disgust- 
ed with this very Spanish amusement. Cock- 
fighting here is second only to bull-fighting, to 
which all things are second. It makes the blood 
run ; and your Iberian is a lover of it, even though 
It be chicken's blood. 

Attached to the theatre is a large hennery, 
where clipped roosters are kept to fight against 
each other and all comers. The John Bulls are 
esteemed the most pugnacious, being fed on roast 
beef and plum-pudding, probably. There being 



CROWING. 287 

uo Yankees in the roost, the Britisher is war- 
ranted to lick any cocks, Christian or infidel, that 
may presume to crow at him. He is understood 
to beat the Gallic cock out and out, except it be 
in crowing. His own neck he rarely deigns to 
use for this purpose on more than two occasions 
— ; first, when he goes into the ring, and last, 
when, having struck his antagonist the fatal blow, 
he goes out of it. 

The process of cock-fighting, being a feat at 
arms which has delighted every boy who has ever 
seen a barnyard, needs no description. The 
only difference is that what at the farmhouse is 
done according to nature, is done in the pit on 
scientific principles, and after the rules laid down 
in the books. The champions must be duly and 
shockingly clipped. Particularly, their tail-feath- 
ers must be cut off short. All their beautiful 
plumage must be sacrificed on the altar of Mars 
before they are deemed worthy to fight his battles. 
They are not even allowed comts, crowns or top- 
knots. The wretched plight they have been re- 
duced to before entering the arena, takes away 



288 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

well nigh all the beholder's pity for them. Such 
hideous looking brutes might fight till doomsday, 
and all Spanish eyes, at least, would retain their 
constitutional dryness. Should the contest last 
so long as a quarter of an hour, or more, there 
will be so much the more time for betting ; and 
at the end of it the duros will be tossed across 
the pit from loser to winner as thick and fast as 
hailstones. There are judges present sitting in 
seats of authority to decide all nice points. But 
the well-practised eyes of the audience rarely 
make a mistake, and quickly detect any attempt 
at foul play. All is done decently and in order. 
The birds are either killed outright, or are with- 
drawn when disabled. In a drawn game, they 
are parted; and they are hooted out of the pit 
when they decline taking part in the performan- 
ces. This, however, rarely happens. For cocks 
in Spain are always as mad as March hares » 
They will fight and crow as long as they can 
stand, and often much longer than they can see. 
Poor things ! their little life was not given them 
to be thus sported away ; they were made to 



THROWING THE PIGEON. 280 

have their heads cut off at a single blow. But 
'tis j^artly their own fault — if they will keep 
such dreadful tempers ! 

Whoever may not fancy going to the cock-fight 
may go down to the dip of the Turia to witness 
the pigeon-shooting. 'Tis more humane ; and is 
done in no theatre's w^alls, but in the open face 
of day. Of a holyday afternoon, all the VYorld is 
there looking on. The river's bed is dry and 
grassy ; for it is only at a season of unusual rains 
that the slender mountain torrent rises sufficiently 
high to fill its banks. Here, below the bridge 
del Mar, is a broad open space well suited to the 
game of el tiro de las palomas. 

The birds are thrown up into the air by their 

owner ; and whoever has a gun and pesetas may 

have a shot at them. The person who has the 

privilege of firing first, and has the advantage of 

a position nearest the thrower, pays a fee of a 

peseta, provided his shot proves a successful one. 

In that case he is also entitled to the pigeon. If 

he misses his mark, he pays nothing and gets 

nothing. Thereupon as many persons as choose 

13 



290 cos AS DE ESPANA. 

to give a couple of reals for the privilege of a 
shot, may fire as fast as they like, until the poor 
bird either falls or gets away. If killed, it be- 
longs to the successful marksman ; and is brought 
in by small boys, aided by dogs, whose share of 
the sport is by no means the least. As half a 
dozen guns may be let off the same moment, there 
is a judge present to decide all disputed claims 
among the sportsmen. His interference, how- 
ever, is rarely necessary ; for the boys, and even 
the dogs seem always to know, as if by instinct, 
to which one of the guns belong the honors of the 
victory and the prize. Most birds which get off 
out of the range of the guns in the bed of the 
river, are brought down by the peasants who lie 
in wait under the neighboring trees for chance 
shots, and who are allowed to fire at any fugitive 
coming within their limits. Occasionally, a for- 
tunate jDigeon soars high in the air above the 
reach of all missiles, and after describing a few 
circles in mid heaven, shapes its course to its 
well-remembered home on some house-top in the 



CHEAP AMUSEMENT. 291 

city. 'Tis so much clear gain to the owner ; be- 
sides a life saved to the poor bird. 

This game of pigeon-shooting is a favorite di- 
version ^Yith the Yalencians. The marksmen 
vie with each other in showing their skill ; and 
the best shot carries off a load of popular lienors, 
besides birds enougli to make a stew-pie. A 
holyday at the same time is made for hundreds 
and even thousands of spectators, who cover the 
river-bed, the quays and the bridges. 

So idle, so easily amused are the dwellers on 
these happy shores. With trifling toil, the earth 
yields them its increase. Their wants are few 
and simple. They think not of the morrow. 
Grant them but an occasional pigeon-shooting 
or a bull-fight, a procession of priests, or a pa- 
rade of soldiers, the sight of a prince or even 
of an elephant and monkeys — and their happy, 
heedless hearts will want no more to render life 
a perpetual merry-making. 



XXVIII. 

PENITENTIARIES AND COURTS OF LAW. 

There are some poor fellows in Yalencia who 
do not attend the pigeon-shootmg. The peniten- 
tiary keeps a thousand persons from going to the 
fetes — and this,- doubtless, must be the most ag- 
gravating part of their punishment. I took a 
day when there was no special merry-making in 
the streets to visit these unfortunates, and see 
what sort of a place a prison might be in the land 
of the Holy Inquisition. Never was I more 
agreeably disappointed. The building now con- 
verted into a presidio correcional was formerly a 
convent, with a multitude of cells and corridors, 
and an inner court. These numerous apartments 
are now filled with convicts, all busy at their dif- 



SILENT SYSTEM. 293 

ferent trades. Eveiy sort of mechanical work is 
here prosecuted from shoe-making to silk-weav- 
ing. The nicest processes of art are executed as 
successfully as the simplest tasks of manual labor. 
The silent system is adopted ; and quiet and 
order reign throughout the establishment. The 
overseers and guards, who are on duty in ail 
parts of the extensive building, are mostly select- 
ed from the more worthy of tlic convicts them- 
selves. The universal neatness makes the visiter 
forget, for the moment, that he is in Spain. Be- 
sides a chapel in which the transgressors are 
daily gathered for religious service, tliere is a 
school-room where the more intelligent are taught 
to read, write, and keep accounts ; and a select 
few of higher capacities are instructed even in 
drawing and painting. Surely, if the hardened 
offender against his country's laws could be 
brought back to virtue by kind treatment, it 
would be in a retreat like this. He has every 
necessity of life supplied him ; he has instruc- 
tion ; religious teaching ; the discipline of silent 
task-work ; and the prospect of returning to the 



294 cos AS DE ESP AN A. 

world with a good coat to his back, and some 
pesetas in his pocket. 

But, alas ! there were many heads I passed in 
review within those walls which could never be 
converted, I am sure, by any instrumentality 
merely human. Their skulls had been shaped 
by the original sin in which they were begotten ; 
and their visages were written over with charac- 
ters of guilt and shame. Early training, a hap- 
pier lot might have saved them from lighting the 
torch of the incendiary, or presenting the blun- 
derbus of the highwaymen ; but now no power 
will suffice to keep their hands out of crime, ex- 
cept by keeping them in fetters, Never, how- 
ever, did I leave a place of confinement like this 
more satisfied with the manner in which justice 
was judiciously tempered with mercy. Would 
that it were equally so in some lands which have 
never seen the Spanish Inquisition. 

One goes naturally enough from the peniten- 
tiary to the courts of justice. My next visit, 
accordingly, was paid to the audiencia. It was 
similar to the courts I had seen in Barcelona. 



LEGAL FORMALITIES. 295 

The five judges sit decently robed in black, but 
without wigs. The clerks are iii black coats, 
and white neck-cloths ; wearing their faces no 
less long than the very grave and reverend 
seignors on the bench behind. There are two 
of them ; and between sits the reporter, whose 
business consists in presenting to the judges a 
brief analysis of the written pleadings of the ad- 
vocates in all cases where such a concise state- 
ment of the arguments might serve to abridge the 
labors of their honors. This ofi&ce is filled by 
some eminent lawyer who aspires to a seat on the 
bench, and uses it as a stepping-stone. The 
pleadings are submitted in writing after the sub- 
stance of them has been delivered in court viva 
voce by the advocates. These, two in number, 
sit on a platform near the judges ; one on the 
right side, and the other on the left. They ad- 
dress the court from their seats ; and rise only 
to make their bow at the conclusion of their ar- 
guments. They do not transact business in sep- 
arate offices about the town, but assemble daily 
in a large room under the same roof as the courts 



296 cos AS DE ESPANA. 

of law, where they sit for clients in boxes marked 
with their names, and but little bigger than con- 
fessionals. 

The tribunal of the Holy Inquisition itself 
could not have been held with more gravity and 
stricter observance of forms than are these mod- 
ern courts. It is said, however, that the plead- 
ings also are merely a part of the formalities ; 
and that cases are generally decided not by the 
weight of the testimony so much as by the amount 
of the bribes. But I will not answer for the truth 
of it. Spectators are confined to a small portion 
of the floor near the entrance, and separated by a 
railing from the main body of the court-room. It 
is a sort of outer temple, where only a few per- 
sons are admitted at a time. They are expected 
to make a low bow to the court on coming in ; 
and turning completely round, to do the same on 
going out. Advocates, clerks, and attendants, 
make similar obeisance. The spectator, more- 
over, must leave his cane or his umbrella outside. 
He must be well-dressed, or he will not get in 
even then. And when once admitted and seated 



AN AMERICAN CONTRAST. 297 

on a plain Avoodcn bench, without a back to it, 
he must take good care to behave himself as re- 
spectfully as if he were in the presence of Minos 
or Rhadamanthus. He must remember that be- 
sides the dio'iiified arbiters of the law, he is face 
to face with all their most Catholic Majesties, 
who look down upon him from their canvass on 
the walls. Accordingly, if he has the misfortune 
to be a little weak in the back, and leans on his 
hand to ease himself, the alguazils will be down 
upon him with an order to sit up straight. Cros- 
sing his legs might perhaps be overlooked ; but 
the first ejection of tobacco juice w^ould be fol- 
lowed by immediate eixpulsion — as well it might. 
It occurred to me one day while sitting in the 
audiencia at Barcelona that the last court of law 
I had seen before leaving " the States" was the 
supreme court, in the city of New York. The 
contrast between the two struck rae as sufficiently 
amusing. The case before the American tribunal 
at the time was one of great popular interest. 
An hour, therefore, before it was to be called, 

the room began to be filled by the public, and the 

12* 



298 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

members of the bar. To say no tiling of tlie ap- 
pearance of the crowd outside the rails, the dress 
and manners of the legal gentlemen would have 
astonished all good Spaniards. They came in 
with their sticks and their umbrellas. They 
stood about in boxcoats and Mackintoshes. They 
chatted familiarly with each other, and read the 
newspapers. In addressing the court, they leaned 
over the judicial desk ns much at their ease as 
they would over a fence in talking to a farmer ; and 
their argument finished, they turned their backs 
on their honors, as if tliere were nobody behind 
them. One I remember was eating pea-nuts. A 
good many were eating tobacco. And to cap the 
climax of singularities, when after having dis- 
posed of the preliminary business of the morning, 
tlie judge ordered the calling of the case which 
was to occupy the attention of tlie court for the 
day, he added with emphasis, as if to prevent a 
row by overawing the multitude, '' The door- 
keepers and guardians of the court will now do 
their duty !" 

They do things differently in Spain. 



XXIX. 

PAINTERS, PRIESTS, AND BEGGARS. 

The lover of art will not fail of visiting the 
Valencian churches and picture galleries, inclu- 
ding the famous collection of Pedro Perez, the 
hair-dresser. As this city was the seat of one 
of the three Spanish schools of painting, the num- 
ber of pictures here is very largQ. It is the only 
place where the great Valencian masters can be 
seen to advantage. Velasquez and Murillo belong- 
ed to the school of Seville ; but that of Valencia 
can boast of Vicente Juanes, called the Spanish 
Raphael, and of Francisco de Ribalta, the teacher 
of Spagnoletto. Several of the best pictures of 
Juanes may be seen at the Museum ; but they will 
hardly warrant the encomiums of the Spanish 
critic of art. Palomino, who placed their author 



800 cos AS DE ESP AN A. 

above Raphael. In the drawing, they are not en- 
tirely free from the restraint of the elder masters ; 
and, they are also marked by a certain degree of 
the same mild and serions enthusiasm of charac- 
ter. In general, however, the style of Jnanes 
re&embles that of the school of Florence. He 
gave such an impulse to art in Valencia as raised 
up a large number of pupils ; but it was half a 
century later that the city was adorned by the 
productions of its second and last great artist. 
Francisco de Ribalta aimed at uniting the bold 
drawing of the Florentines with the brilliant col- 
oring of the Yenitians ; and with a good degree 
of success. A considerable number of his works 
are to be seen in the Colegio de Corpus ; but the 
rest must be searched for in different churches 
and galleries, and frequently on walls covered 
with canvass well nigh worthless. A large pro- 
portion of the six or seven hundred pictures of 
the Museum possess only an historical value. 
Galleries upon galleries are filled with nothing 
but altar-pieces, with such a deplorable looking 
set of virgins, saints, and priests, as must ex- 



PAINTED SAINTS. 301 

cite rather tlie risibles than the respect of 
posterity. 

Surely, there would be priests enough left in 
Valencia if these painted ones were for ever put 
out of sight. You see them everywhere. Not 
only on the canvass of galleries and churches, 
they stand also in stone on the bridges of the 
Turia. They are carved on the city-gates ; they 
have nitches in all the streets ; they are frescoed 
on the walls of houses and gardens. In the hun- 
dred churches of the city, likewise, besides in all 
the schools and hospitals, the priest is present — 
no pictured shape, or sculptured stone, but some 
twenty stone of the very fattest and warmest 
flesh in all Valencia. You meet hira at every 
turn and corner. Well, tlierefore, did the city 
select a bat for its emblem ; and riglitly did it 
tlirow a veil over the eyes of the Sphinx which 
sits at its gateways! 

Before the last revolution Valencia was a per- 
fect hive of monks and nuns. The buildings which 
now are hotels, academies, museums, palaces, and 
prisons, were then the property of the church. 



302 COSAS DE ESP AN A. 

The large, high-walled gardens within the city 
were laid out by the holy men of old. Their 
hands planted the palm-trees which still overhang 
the town. Theirs were the now aged fig-trees, 
and theirs the vine-stocks, which at present poui 
out their juices to slake the thirst of lips unbe- 
lieving. Poor fellows ! They have now to stow 
themselves away in narrow quarters, living by 
charities scanty and uncertain, compared with 
the fat things of the good olden time. Then they 
were the lords of the soil, being rich in corn and 
wine. All ate ojff of broad platters, and drank 
out of deep cups. Alas ! they have now to make 
themselves as comfortable as they can on stolen 
pleasures, and to swallow their forbidden fruit 
in the strictest privacy. Were it not that a cer- 
tain irrepressible and undisguisable rotundity, a 
certain puffed and oily condition of the skin, a 
certain air of fleshly well-being, can not be entire- 
ly covered up by the most sanctimonious sack- 
cloth, these good Spanish fathers might pass for 
the deserving beggars which, professionally, they 
pretend to be. No doubt, many of them really 



THE FOUR ORDERS. 303 

are such ; and for the rest — charity may hope 
that they are no greater sinners than other men. 
Bishops, priests, deacons, and beggars — there 
are four orders in the Valencian hierarchy. 
Your beggar is as indispensable in the churches 
as any of their other officers ; and is as much a 
fixture there as the saints on the walls. In all 
other Christian countries he begs at the gate ; 
here he stands within the holy precincts. He 
asks for alms up and down the aisles. He puts 
the charity of the worshipper to the test the mo- 
ment the latter leaves his knees. The preacher 
inculcates the eleemosynary virtues ; and the beg- 
gar seconds his arguments by showing his sores. 
Whoever goes about during the time of service 
looking at the saints and angels on the walls, will 
be and thereby is excommunicated, according to 
notice duly posted up ; but he may walk around 
surveying the mendicants, and doling out alms, 
without sin. Nor is the Valencian beggar any 
Madonna, or the image of any saint in the calen- 
dar, tliat one should prefer to look upon her or 
him instead of the pictures of Juanes, Ribalta, or 



304 cos AS DE ESP AN A. 

Morales. On the contrary, she is the most hide- 
ous hag ever born of woman ; and he bears upon 
him the marks of the foulest sinner since Cain. 
They present an array of monstrosities begotten 
of nature in moods the most wilful or the most 
thoughtless. Such unfortunates should be ex- 
cluded not only from the churches, but from the 
streets ; and be maintained at the public expense 
in retreats where they would not shock the pub- 
lic sight, and daily wound the souls of all men 
having human sympathies. 

If there must be beggars running at large, let 
them rather be the pretty flower-girls who offer 
pinks and violets ; or singing boys with their 
roguish pockets stuffed with rolls and raisins ; or 
decent-looking blind persons ; or veterans well 
hacked to pieces in the wars. But as for encour- 
aging the parading about in the face of day of 
revolting deformities, it is a method for multiply- 
ing the distresses of humanity much more than 
for relieving them. However, people do not 
think so in Valencia. There, no place is too 
holy, or too clean for the unwashed feet of the 



BKGGAR^ IX CHURCH. -iOo 

mendicant. Besides in the churches, he has his 
stations in the public squares. Ho goes his 
rounds in the most fashionable streets. Wherever 
there is a pleasant sunny wall, he is its principal 
flower. All the salient positions, as well as all 
the most delicious retreats, he selects for himself 
with an instinct as unerring as an artist's or a 
lover's. In short, he is almost as great a nui- 
sance in this old paradise of the Moors as was 
the devil himself in Eden. Doubtless, he is set 
on, and kept in countenance by this bad person- 
age. For the stranger in Valencia, each lies in 
wait ; and one or the other is pretty sure to catch 
him. The only way of escape is to fee both of 
them. 



XXX. 

THE LAKE OF ALBUFERA. 

Whoever goes to Valencia goes to the lake 
of Albufera. It is a drive of two full hours, 
going at a brisk walk. Not for love, nor for 
money, can one compass the distan'^ce in less time 
— for neither horse nor huerta are made for trot- 
ting. But hire a tartana, and put into it the 
most agreeable persons you can find. Also, lay 
in a stock of cold fowl, together with generous 
Yaldepenas, or rich vino de Toro ; for it is not 
safe to trust oneself on any road in this country 
without having something in the saddle-bags to 
fall back upon, in case of necessity. One might 
as well be murdered by banditti as starved to 
death by the road-side for the lack of a pair of 
chickens. Therefore go to Albufera provided 



THE START. 307 

with something to comfort both body and soul, 
and keep tliem well together. 

Having then selected a clean cart, in wliich 
tliere are no fleas, and a horse which is not bro- 
ken-winded, place your dark-eyed seiiora in the 
seat of honor, and tell your boy in the red cap to 
crack his whip. His horse being good for one 
mile, at least; he will take you through the streets 
at a rate which makes you say to your friends, 
*' We shall be there in half an hour." Thus you 
go on very promisingly until you get to the mud 
and sand of the plain. Then your cart comes to 
a full stop. You look out of the window in sur- 
prise ; and the boy on the box quietly tells you 
that his animal is recovering his wind before at- 
tacking the huerta. Knowing that he has got to 
go to Albufera, and knowing from unhappy ex- 
perience the state of the roads in that direction, 
the brute means to have the benefit of one long 
breath before taking another step. For God's 
sake, let the caballo have his own Avay — don't 
hurry him. He will tell you, and in just about 
as good Castilian as his driver's, that in Spain 



808 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

the slowest pace soonest reaches the goal. 
Pie may even acid that. El que se apresura se 
muere ; y el que no^ tamhien. I say then let 
him do the thing as it is done in his country, if 
you wish ever to arrive at Albufera. Besides, 
before starting upon any such difficult expedition, 
whoever is both generous and wise will give a 
good hard duro to the cochero for filling his 
pockets with loaf-sugar to coax his horse on. A 
horse or mule which has been brought up in the 
service of the dilig^ncia will get over the ground 
fast enoiigh ; but I never knew one accustomed 
to a tartana who expected to go any great distance 
at a pace beyond a walk. Nor have I known 
one that did not count on being humored, or that 
would not do anything in the bounds of reason 
for a stick of sugar-candy. 

Our nag finally took the road — and we did 
the same. For it was pleasanter walking than 
driving. The morning was the fairest of all the 
year. The sun was climbing the sky with azure 
footsteps ; while his face beamed upon the Spanish 
sea, and the wide-spread Moorish garden with 



SPRING MORNING. 309 

rays of love. It was a pure delight to stand in 
the warm sunshine.. The soul in its depths felt 
a sympathetic glow, and shared in this mutual 
rejoicing of heaven and earth. This was indeed 
spring. The fig was already showing its fruit; 
the orange glowed with a deep yellow from its 
boughs of green ; the willow was hanging out 
its dishevelled grace over the grassy banks ; the 
fields were covered with growing wheat ; the 
birds were singing in the budding branches ; and 
both man and all living things were penetrated 
with those genial influences with which nature 
ushers in the new-borii year. 

Our way wound around among the cottages of 
the peasantry. They were small, neatly white- 
washed houses. The floors were made of earth ; 
the walls of reeds and clay ; the roofs of straw 
or dried grass ; and the whole was surmounted 
by a small wooden cross. This sacred emblem 
keeps the dwelling safe from all bad spirits ; and 
is thought better than any rod of metal to ward 
off the bolts of Jove. Without this protection, 
not a gude-wife could sleep o' nights ; and every 



310 COSAS DE ESP AN A, 

peasant would see ghost or goblin as sure as he 
drew on his night-cap. It is probably ta prevent 
witches from coming down the chimneys that the 
houses are built without any ; for the good peo- 
ple are not a little superstitious on this huerta. 
The family stews are cooked on stones ; and the 
bread is baked in a large mud oven situated out 
of doors. Human nature is the same the world 
over ; and so are your Yalencian oven and your 
Dutch oven of one kidney. They are both, like 
the Dutclnnan who invented them, and who must 
have derived the original pattern from his own per- 
son, all belly. A batch of bread baked in one of 
these huge deformities will last a family a month. 
Externally the cottages looked neat with white- 
wash; and whoever does not venture inside of 
them will be sure to carry away pleasant impres- 
sions. The fields appeared to be well tilled. 
The trees were pruned, and the vines carefully 
trained. Still there was that in the general as- 
pect of things which seemed to indicate that 
Nature, when she fully resumed her powers, 
would over-rule the labor of man ; that her luxu- 



MOORISH HOURIS. -"511 

riant growths would throw an air of negligent 
grace over grounds the most diligently tended ; 
and that the great power of the summer's heat 
would cover the well-watered fields with plants 
and foliage as exuberant as ever grew in the 
fabled gardens of the Hesperides. 

The fields were divided by rows of olive and 
mulberry trees, the latter making food for worms 
which in turn make silk for man. In the city, 
by-the-by, I visited some large factories where 
the material is wound and woven. The work- 
manship rivals that of France, while the looms 
are tended by young girls twice as pretty as the 
Lyonnaises. There are some of the descendants 
of the Moorish honris among them. Moreover, 
being a lover of the beautiful in architecture as 
well as in the human form divine, you will visit 
not only the silk factories, but the silk hall, or 
exchange. Here the merchants expose the gold- 
en skeins for sale beneath one of the finest roofs 
which was ever reared on pillars. Go once, 
twice, thrice, to admire it. It may be a long time 
before your eyes will rest upon another so beautiful. 



312 COSAS DE ESP AN A. 

But we are outwalking our cahallo. Still, 
having now reached the rice-grounds, we shall 
have a new feature in the landscape to occupy 
our attention until the arrival of our cart and 
one. 'Here, where the land has been made level 
as the house floor, and where it can be flooded 
by the waters of the lake, good crops of rice are 
raised. The fields are divided into small, regu- 
lar spaces, some of which were still under water, 
while others had been already broken up by hand. 
A goodly number of peasants were at work in 
bands, turning up the soil by means of broad hoes 
with short handles. This instrument seemed to 
me sufficiently inconvenient, as it required the 
laborer to break his back with incessant stoop- 
ing. I think a good English or Yankee spade 
would answer a better purpose. But no true 
Spaniard would think of using any other utensil 
than the hereditary hoe. A spade would break 
Ms back for very want of stooping. By all 
means, then, leave him to his own tools. When 
railways shall connect Spain with civilized coun- 
tries, perhaps the foreigner's spades and shovels 



VIEW OF THE LAKE. 313 

will get introduced. But should you offer him 
one at the present day, he would be quite as like- 
ly to cleave your liead with it as put it to any 
better purpose. 

Nearer town we had passed several rice-beds 
w^hich were being prepared for sprouting the 
plants. A small space of ground having been 
dug up, enriclied w^ith manure, and saturated 
witli water, the whole is mixed and trodden to- 
gether by a horse kept walking round in a circle. 
When the soil has been brought to about the con- 
sistency of thick cream, though not its color, the 
rice is sown. The plants soon spring up; and 
after they have grown to be a foot high, they are 
transplanted into the fields. This occurs some 
time in the month of May. The crop requires 
great labor in its preparation, but yields a good 
return. 

. At length we came in view of the lake, which 
we greeted as did the soldiers of Xenophon the 
sea. On our arrival, the host of the principal 
inn showed us at once to tlie top of the house to 

see the landscape. This to my mind was proof 

14 



314 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

positive that he had nothing very inviting to ex- 
hibit in his larder. When finally put to the ques- 
tion, he came out with the confession that there 
vi^as nothing in that department, save potatoes 
and onions. This was so characteristic of the 
country that I could .scarcely refrain from laugh- 
ing in his face. Not a loaf of bread was to be 
had within half a dozen miles ; though I must do 
the posadero the justice to say that there were a 
few fish, about as long as one's finger, in a basket 
on the shore. His Royal Highness, the Duke de 
Montpensier, had been there a couple of days be- 
fore, and had eaten up everything in the estab- 
lishment, said the landlord. However, his pota- 
toes, his onions, and his fish, were good enough 
any day for a prince ; and if we did not like 
them, it would be entirely out of his power to do 
us the honors of his kitchen. 

But he could serve us in another way ; he could 
show us the tub in which the prince had gone out 
on the lake, wild-fowl shooting. He actually in- 
sisted on taking us to see this tub, in which, no 
longer than two days before, had floated a Mont- 



THE TUB OF A MONTPENSIER. Slo 

pensier. He got into the tub, and stood up in 
it. Will you believe it ? The very tub in which 
only forty-eight hours before had stood a son of 
a king ! 

I was shocked, and got out of the way as 
quickly as possible — though not until the loqua- 
cious host had described the process of duck-shoot- 
ing on the lake. Still standing in his tub, he 
informed us that it was necessary for the fowler 
to row off before daybreak to a favorable hiding- 
place amid the reeds and grasses. Here, after 
having set his decoys, he conceals himself and 
his tub, as well as he can, and awaits the arrival 
of the birds on their feeding grounds. From his 
ambush he fires upon them as they come within 
gunshot, keeping up the sport for several hours 
after sunrise. So had done the duke. So do 
a large number of Yalencian cockneys, who, 
during six months of the year, come out here, 
more or less duly equipped with rusty fowl- 
ing pieces, and licenses to shoot ducks, if they 
can hit them. 

I left the posadero sitting in his tub, and show- 



316 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

iiig, by example, the exact attitude which had 
been assumed by the duke, that I might once 
more enjoy the prospect from the roof. It was 
truly beautiful. The broad lake lay spread out 
before me some twenty miles in circumference. . 
Its shores and edges were mostly covered with 
rushes ; while a ra,ther low beach, tufted with tall 
grass walled out the sea, except at one narrow 
opening five or six miles distant. Through this 
a considerable number of boats, their decks piled 
high with reeds and rushes, were entering the 
lake. Their sails not being half filled with air 
were lazily aided by oars. Not the slightest 
haze rested upon the surface of the placid water, 
and only a barely perceptible veil of blue hung 
over the distant mountains. The huts of the fish- 
ermen shone out distinctly upon the remotest 
shores ; and the white towns and villages of the 
huerta, less obscured at this early season by trees, 
could be seen in great numbers in the transparent 
atmosphere. The distant walls of Valencia were 
below the level of sight ; but its domes and towers 
and steeples rose up out of the plain as those of 



FROGS AND LEECHES. 317 

Venice appear to the approaching traveller to 
spring up out of the sea. 

I descended and walked the shores. Boys 
naked to the thighs were wading in search of 
leeches — " Spanish leeches." And along the ca- 
nals which were connected with the lake, men in 
similar undress were fishing for frogs. With 
legs bare, they nevertheless had the everlasting 
cloak on their shoulders. The Yalencian will 
go in linen shorts as loose as the trousers of a 
Turk ; his stockings may be without feet, leaving 
knees and ankles more exposed than a Scotch 
Highlander's ; but in any case he must have his 
cloak on. Without that he would be no Span- 
iard. It seems to be no more an incumbrance to 
him that if he had been born with it. Baskets, 
as well as cloaks, were slung over the backs of 
the fishermen ; and it was surprising to see how 
fast they whipped the frogs into them. They 
were clearly experts. Walking slowly along, 
they constantly cast their short line, like a fly- 
fisher, and every time brought it out of the water 
with the dangling game at the end of it. Out of 



318 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

tlie water, and into the basket, was tlie work of 
one and the same instant. Frogs seemed to be 
as numerous as formerly in Egypt ; and, stupid 
things, one bait served them the whole day long. 
Besides these leech and frog catchers, there 
were a few fowlers lying about in the grass, and 
looking as though nothing would come amiss to 
their bag, whether ducks or travellers. We 
strolled about an hour or two seeing no other 
signs of life, but admiring the beautiful reflections 
of bank and cottage, of tapering spires and moun- 
tain sides on the still water, until the sun descend- 
ing fast from the zenith warned us of the neces- 
sity of " taking cart" for town. 



XXXI. 

A CLIMATE FOR INVALIDS. 

The climate of the eastern and southern coasts 
of Spain has never been fully appreciated by for- 
eigners. Here is to be found the very best win- 
ter refuge in western Europe. At Barcelona, the 
weather, with the exception of about a fortnight 
in mid-winter, is uniformly fine. 'In this brief 
period there may occur rains, with high winds ; 
but during the rest of the winter months, the sky 
is clear and the air is still. The warmth is just 
sufficient to render exercise in the open air 
agreeable. In March, the winds here as every- 
where are liable to play a few antics ; but the 
coming on of spring, though slow as in all south- 
ern countries, is exceedingly beautiful. The au- 
tumn is mellow and golden as its own fruits. 



320 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

The summer's heat is tempered by the sea-breeze ; 
the narrow streets exclude the sun ; the high, 
thick-walled houses are cool ; and the evenings 
on the promenades are truly delightful. Once 
the sun sunk below the horizon, one half the 
town go to the Muralla to drink in the refreshing 
air from the sea ; while the other half, sitting on 
chairs in the ample spaces of the Rambla, keep 
their hearts cool by eating ices. Meanwhile the 
moon rides "up through a heaven of blue ; the air 
is full of soft, love-favoring beams ; the eyes and 
the jewels of the fair promenaders sparkle equally 
out of the night ; and a spell of happy enchant- 
ment hangs over the town, as over the palm-cities 
of the East. 

Compared with the climate of Nice, that of 
Barcelona has decidedly the advantage for most 
invalids wishing to pass the winter near the sun. 
The Italian city, though well sheltered from all 
the other northern winds, is often terribly whip- 
ped by the tail of the bise^ which rushes with 
fury down the Rhone. It is also exposed to fre^ 
quent variations of temperature, according as the 



NICE OUTDONE. 321 

wind l)lows from the mountains, or the sea. In 
the former case, the air is dry and cool ; in the 
latter, moist and warm. The evenings and morn- 
ings are apt to be chilly, even when the soft Fa- 
vonian breezes blow from the south through the 
day. One is always cold in the shade, and 
often uncomfortably warm in the sun. To pass 
from one side of the house to the other, is to 
make the journey from Siberia to the tropics. 
On the Spanish coast, this difference of tempera- 
ture between sun and shade is not so great, I 
think ; though more marked than at the north. 
There is, moreover, no mistral. A greater still- 
ness reigns in the atmosphere, which is rarely 
disturbed by those severe, though short conflicts 
of the winds that so often shake the nerves of the 
invalids of Nice. Equally bracing, the air at 
Barcelona' is less inconstant. 

Whoever finds himself too strongly oxygenated 
in the dry, electric air of Barcelona, can drop 
down to Valencia. Here he will live under 
softer influences. The winter atmosphere is a 

degree or two milder ; and in summer there is 

14* 



322 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

excellent bathing at the Grao. All amateurs of 
salt-water bathing should go for the enjoyment 
of this luxury in its perfection to the Mediterra- 
nean. The water is much more potent than that 
of the ocean. Whether from the action of the 
warm sun of the south on this confined sea, or 
from whatever other cause, a plunge into its waves 
refreshes and invigorates the limbs much more than 
a dip into the waters of the Atlantic. Still one 
should hardly gambol by the hour in this delight- 
ful element. Water may be burned as fuel, we 
are nowadays taught to believe ; and certainly 
these Mediterranean waves, if too much caressed, 
will occasion internal congestions and heart-burn- 
ings. 

Those delicate persons who shiver at the faintest 
touch of winter's frosty fingers, and can not bear 
to inhale even a slightly-bracing air, may go still 
farther south, and fix their residence in the sunny 
Malaga. Here one is well nigh as safe from cold 
as in the tropics. A strong man in full health 
finds the air enervating ; but for the tender, 
stricken invalid, it is a balm and balsam. Who- 



CHATEAUX d'ESPAGNE. 323 

ever chooses so to do can live on grapes and 
sweet oranges ; while there are malvoisies for the 
ladies. The earth yields naught but sweets, 
and life is a pleasing day-dream — comme dans 
les chateaux d'Espagne. 

The only thing lacking in these delightful 
towns is in-door comfort. The Spaniard lias no 
notion of what constitutes an English home, and 
makes it more comfortable in perpetual fogs than 
any habitations beneath the bright skies of the 
peninsula. His happiness lies out of doors. 
The sun is his patron, before all the saints. He 
goes into the streets, to the public rendezvous for 
his entertainments. He returns home only to eat 
and sleep ; and without any great enjoyment in 
either. 

Spain is as destitute at the present day of 
household comforts as was Italy at the beginning 
of the century. It is only in consequence of the 
great influx of travellers, particularly the English, 
that this latter country is now so well supplied 
with decent inns and lodging-houses. Fifty years 
ago there were here no nicely furnished apart- 



324 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

ments to be let — no fireplaces — no carpets on 
tlie floors — no ample wash-basins — no dry sheets 
— no closely-shutting doors and windows. Sim- 
ilar is the state of things in Spain at the present 
day. Whoever goes to pass a winter in Barce- 
lona, or any other of her sister-cities, must live 
in a public inn. Furnished apartments are rarely 
to be met with. Houses without furniture can 
be rendered habitable only with great expense 
and trouble. There are, indeed, boarding-houses 
casas de pupillos ; but I fancy that no foreigner 
could make himself at home in them. They are 
probably altogether too Spanish. At Barcelona 
the traveller will find two hotels which may be 
pronounced good, considering the country they 
are in. There is one in Valencia. So in all the 
larger towns there is generally one house where 
the foreigner can live after a tolerably civilized 
fashion. 

But nobody should go to Spain with the inten- 
tion of staying in-doors. It would not be doing 
among the Romans as the Romans do. An ama- 
teur of the fireside should sooner spend his win- 



SANGRADOS. 825 

tors ill his own liome, though it were Quebec oi 
St. Petersburgh. Spain is a country only for the 
lovers of the sun. Those invalids also who much 
affect doctors and their remedies would do well 
not to set foot in it. For the Spanish Sangrados 
still have a bad reputation. But whoever relies 
for the recovery of his health on the recupera- 
tive force of his own nature, aided by the medi- 
cine of the open air, and wants only cheerful 
skies, pleasant scenes, and simple living, God 
speed him to the southeastern shores of Spain. 



XXXII. 

OPENING OF A RAILWAY. 

The opening of the railway from Valencia to 
Grao occurred during my stay in the city, and 
was an event to be chronicled. Never but twice 
before had such a thing happened in the penin- 
sula. Should Don Quixote or Gil Bias return at 
the present day to their country, the three rail- 
ways would be about the only changes they would 
notice. There is indeed no other new thing 
under the Spanish sun. First came the railway 
from Madrid to Aranjuez, twenty-five miles in 
length ; next that from Barcelona to Mataro, 
thirty miles ; and last and least, this from Valen- 
cia to Grao. It Would be more respectful, per- 
haps, to say nothing of its length ; but the simple 
truth is, that it is two miles. Nevertheless it is 



TWO MILES OF RAIL. 327 

a railway ; and tlie first ever seen by the Yalen- 
cians. Therefore it could not be opened without 
some ado. Indeed, to Spaniards it must have 
seemed a great affair. 

The railway to Grao, accordingly, was opened 
with a loud flourish of trumpets. The small 
station-house was crowded to overflowing hours 
before the departure of the train. This was the 
company of invited guests. But the outsiders 
were in number equal to all the rest of the inhab- 
itants of the town, and half of the province, into 
the bargain. The peasant had come in from the 
huerta, and the shepherd had descended from his 
mountains. All were in holyday attire. The 
Spanish colors were flying from staff and house- 
top ; and the whole city was garlanded as for a 
fete. But it was within the station-house that 
the principal ceremonies were to be witnessed. 
All the to}i of the town was there gathered to- 
gether. Spanish ladies are not destitute of curi- 
osity ; and here was something new to be seen. 
The fair, therefore, were out in all their force 
and feather. The hiah functionaries of state also 



328 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

were present with their ensigns of office, and the 
dignitaries of the church came in their robes of 
ceremony. The latter had the principal act of 
the day to perform, which consisted in sprinkling 
the engines with holy water, and lifting up holy 
hands over them. Without this consecration, no 
Spaniard would risk his bones on a railway, 
though but two miles long. The benediction 
therefore was duly pronounced. To all believers 
it was a guaranty that the engines should not run 
off the track, nor come in collision," nor fail to 
whistle, nor even have a screw get loose ; though 
I am not sure that it was understood as insuring 
the earning of six per cent, dividends. 

But the blessing of the engines did not make 
up the whole of the ceremony. On an occasion 
so flattering to the national pride, this strong 
Spanish feeling had to get vent in odes and 
verses. The poet was there to give it tongue. 
To listen to his magniloquent measures, one 
would have thought that the newly-finished 
railway was to connect Valencia with the road, 
to heaven ; or at the very least, witli the 



GET OFF THE TRACK. 329 

capital of the country, instead of the port of 
Grao. 

"Bajo un ciel de azul, puro y serono" — 

" Under a heaven of azure, pure and serene," 
began the ode ; and meanwhile preparations were 
being made overhead as if for bringing in a sec- 
ond deluge. It was all the same to the elated 
Valencians. They soared on the wings of poesy 
above all the clouds ; and coming down, after 
the reading of the verses, they stepped intb the 
carriages, and in five minutes were at the end 
of their journey. 

As the train came out of the station-house, 
the populace set up a small shout. The drums 
beat ; the trumpets brayed ; the engine whis- 
tled. Get off the track was now the cry ; for 
the people, though not sovereign in this coun- 
try, had crowded on to the rails in great num- 
bers, spite of alguazils. Get off the track shouted 
one and all. This, with the help of a few squads 
of soldiers, stationed bayonet in hand along the 
road, finally cleared the way, saving the unprofit- 
able lives of scores of beggars. 



330 COSAS DE espaNa. 

The train made a start on the principle of 
" slow and sure," or as the Spaniard still better 
has it, of No corre priesa. The engineer, doubt- 
less, was afraid of getting his steam up very 
high, lest, with all his brakes, the shortness of 
the road should render it impossible to stop the 
iron steed before he had leaped into the sea, 
dragging all the beauty and notability of Valen- 
cia after him. This tame go-off encouraged the 
small boys to give chase, who did their best to 
climb up behind the carriages, as if they had 
been carts in the streets. They were mostly 
choked off, however ; and the whole affair suc- 
ceeded in getting to the port of Grao with no 
bones broken. 

But on returning in the edge of the evening, 
it fared worse. The muleteers, donkey-drivers, 
and banditti, thinking their occupation for ever 
gone, assembled on the road, and pelted the 
carriages with stones and brick-bats. Happily, 
few hit the mark, the rascals taking to their 
heels while in the act of discharging their mis- 
siles. I never heard that they had the cour- 



ATTACK BY BANDITTI. 331 

age to repeat the attack ; and to this day, no 
doubt, tlie trains pass over the " two miles," 
unmolested by muleteers, and unchallenged by 
highwaymen. 



XXXIII. 

FROM VALENCIA TO MADRID. 

I HAD my choice of four ways of going from 
Valencia to Madrid. There was the " el correo" 
or mail-coachj the " diligencia," the " coche de 
coUeras," and the back of Eiosinante. As to the 
last, I should have chances enough of trying the 
Spanish saddle on the bridle-roads of Andalusia ; 
and the enjoyment of the equestrian sensation 
might well be deferred until it would come as a 
matter of course. To anticipate it at Valencia 
would be not to take the pleasures of peninsular 
travel in their natural order. On the other hand, 
the first mode of conveyance was too French to 
be thought of; the "el correo" being nothing 
more than the malle-poste of France transported 
across the Pyrenees. It answered very well for 



COCHE DE COLLERAS. 333 

the Duke de Montpensier to go up to Madrid, as 
he did a few days before me, by this coach, for 
he was a Frenchman ; but if it were worth while 
for me to travel in Spain at all, it certainly be- 
hooved me not to post day and night through the 
country in a vehicle so newly brought in by the 
foreigner. The " diligencia" also was originally 
a trans-Pyrenean invention ; but it has now be- 
come thoroughly acclimated, and put on that 
brown hue which characterizes all things Span- 
ish. It has indeed been so completely adapted 
to native uses that it might even pass for a cosa 
de Espana, and is believed by the great majority 
of the nation, no doubt, to be only an improve- 
ment upon the ancient galera or cart of the " We 
ourselves, the Spaniards." In this vehicle then 
I resolved to go to Madrid. The coche de col- 
leras was entirely out of the question ; because, 
in the first place, by that conveyance I should 
have grown old before reaching my destination ; 
in the second, it would cost a small fortune in 
disbursements and gratificacioncitas ; and third, 
if caught travelling through tlie country in a 



334 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

coach and four, I should certainly be robbed and 
carried off to a cave, as a rich Californian, not 
to be ransomed short of half the dust in El Dora- 
do. At Barcelona I had shirked the diligencia ; 
but now the time had evidently come when it was 
necessary to put myself under the protection of 
the Mayoral. He would pay the black-mail, 
charging my proportion in the passage-ticket; 
and I should be saved the trouble of standing 
and delivering on the road. I even went one 
step farther. The price of bed and board for the 
journey being included in the fare, I determine^ 
to set off without wallet ; and in case of being 
hard pinched with hunger, to regard it as so much 
interesting Spanish experience. It would cost 
me a struggle ; for my Yalencian landlord's Bor- 
deaux was not bad, and nothing but the villanous 
vino ordinario would be met with at the posadas. 
His cold chickens also were undeniable ; but 
what sort of stews might not a foreigner expect 
would be set before him in such provinces as La 
Mancha and New Castile ? Still, said I to my- 
self, face the oUa, if needs be, and bravely take 



EIBS AT MY OWN RISK. 335 

the chances of the journey like a native-born 
Spaniard. 

The day — the hour of departure at length ar- 
rived ; and I boldly took my seat in the herlina. 
I was not to be robbed ; not to be starved ; not 
even to lose my luggage, except in case of cap- 
ture vi et armis ; and had the company's guar- 
anty for it all in my pocket. My ribs, to be sure, 
were at my own risk. My temper also was in 
my own keeping ; but in any event I felt sure of 
that. My heart had already been deposited in a 
safe place. As to my time, I was disposed to 
rate it at the same value as a native's, which 
is just nothing at all. Whoever should steal my 
purse would steal trash. Indeed the papers re- 
ceived from the office cautioned me against car- 
rying much money ; and just then I found it very 
convenient to comply with this suggestion. All 
told, therefore, my risks were not sufficient to 
give me any uneasiness. I should arrive at 
Madrid at the same time and in the same condi- 
tion as the Spaniards, my fellow-passengers ; and 
that was all I cared for. 



336 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

We dashed through the streets with the usual 
shoutmg, cursing and whip-cracking. On passing 
the gates I kissed my hand, as in duty bound, to 
all the pretty Valencianas left behind — and the 
conductor, I observed, did the same. One belle, 
however, we co.rried off with us. She was my 
vis-a-vis in the berlina^ and was the daughter of a 
silk-merchant, who was taking her and her moth- 
er with him up to Madrid. Here, indeed, was a 
danger I had not anticipated ; for every time the 
seiiorita raised her lashes I should be bored 
through ; and it would be fire and load again 
with her eyes, doubtless, all the way to Madrid. 
However, as retreat was impossible I could only 
accept my fate, though it were to be riddled like 
a target at Christmas. Nor did it appear that I 
was to be the only victim. For opposite the 
Mamma sat a young ecclesiastic, the fifth of our 
party in the berlina; and it was clear that unless 
he kept his eyes pretty steadily upon the volume 
of St. Augustine he held in his hand, the battery 
opposite would do them more or less damage. 
But he faced the enemy with more nerve than 



DRIVE TO thl: hills. 387 

was to have been expected from his clotli ; and 
like myself, survived, I have no doubt, to tell his 
own tale. 

The drive through the huerta to the hills was 
a charming one. The morning air was fragrant 
with the spring flowers which reared their gor- 
geous heads wherever the hoe or scythe tolerated 
them ; for the power of vegetation here, if not 
constantly repressed, bursts forth with perpetual 
beauty and sweet odors. The peasants were at 
work in the fields no less cheerfully than Nature 
herself, nor less deliberately. I saw neither hur- 
ry nor idling, but a steady and natural movement 
everywhere. Here a carolling Adne-dresser was 
pruning his exuberant branches, himself no le^ss 
full of the sap of life than they. There the 
mower stood knee-deep in newly cut grass, whet- 
ting his blade with measured strokes as if play- 
ing an accompaniment to his voice. The bright- 
colored handkerchief with which the laborers' 
heads were bound about, their open-sleeved vel- 
vet jacket, and red sash, gave their work the ap- 
pearance of merry-making. Generally they were 

15 



338 COSAS DE ESPAi^A. 

without the striped blanket ; but all were in 
short linen drawers, and leggings open at both 
knee and ankle ; and had their feet shod with 
hempen sandals tied with strings of red or purple. 
Beneath such a costume the heart could not be 
otherwise than gay. The quick-stepping donkey 
went by laden with grass or grape leaves ; the 
long-horned oxen were turning a sluggish furrow 
in the fields ; while occ asionally we would over- 
take a gipsy-looking pedlar, or contrabandista, 
bending under his pack, and bound to a fair in 
the hill country. On either hand, neat, white- 
washed cottages peeped out of the green land- 
scape ; and almost a score of spires could be 
counted rising up from the well-populated plains. 
Where the vine vies with the mulberry in the 
purple of its berries ; where the honey made from 
innumerable wild flowers is famed for its sweet- 
ness ; where the orange, the fig, the almond, and 
the pomegranate are heaped up together on tjie 
board of the humblest cottager ; and where of 
corn, and wine, and oil, there is a plenty for all ; 
how does human life naturally take the purple 



LA MANCHA AND CASTILE. 339 

hues of joy and gladness reflected from all things 
that lie around it. 

Alas ! I was to see different landscapes beyond 
the Cabreras. 

Indeed, from the point where the road left the 
province of Yalencia it became monotonous and 
dreary, and continued such, with few exceptions, 
up to the very gates of Madrid. The level table- 
lands of La Mancha and Castile oppress the mind 
of the traveller with something of the sadness 
which steals over him on the central savannas 
of America, and the steppes of Russia or Hungary. 
At one time, he finds himself in the midst of 
boundless pastures, but so barren from surface 
stones and gravel that the few roving flocks of 
sheep or goats, occasionally met with, seem to 
pick up with difficulty a scanty subsistence ; and 
the shepherds who tend them look completely 
forlorn, compared with the piping boys and car- 
olling maids that watch their flocks on the green 
slopes of the Alps or the Grampians. At other 
times, the traveller looks out upon endless grain- 
fields, where the soil is indeed fertile, but the 



840 COSAS DE ESPlNA. 

prospect scarcely less blank and monotonous, from 
the almost complete absence of human habitations. 
The tillers of these plains live huddled together 
for protection in small villages remote from the 
scene of their daily toils ; and in the distance, 
the clusters of cottages look no bigger than ham- 
lets. In these dull spaces are no trees ; no 
hedges or fences ; no lakes or rivers. The win- 
try winds have full sweep from sierra to sierra ; 
and the summer's sun parches the naked surface 
as dry as powder. Accordingly, the lightest 
zephyr roves along the plain with wings dusted 
like the butterfly's ; the rays of the sun are full 
of myriads of imponderable particles floating in - 
the atmosphere ; and a heavy coating of powder 
weighs upon the head of every spear of grass and 
grain stalk. The native brown is burnt out of 
the surface of the earth ; and all things are 
chalk-colored. For nearly half the year, the fla- 
ming god rules with a rod of fire the expanse 
which, during the other half, is whipped by the 
bitter ice-blasts of the inland mountain ranges. 
Thus, Nature is here fierce in both her love and 



TABLE LANDS. 341 

hate ; and the traveller wonders that man should 
think it worth while to dispute with her the pos- 
session of realms scarcely intended by the Crea- 
tor to be his. 

Consequently, the cultivators of these inland 
provinces are noticeably unlike the gay-hearted 
inhabitants of the Valencian coasts, or the Anda- 
lusian valleys. Here the Spaniard is grown in 
all his gravity ; and his poverty is abundantly suf- 
ficient to furnish the requisite basis for his pride. 
The American Indian roaming the woods without 
a home, is scarcely more haughty, or saturnine. 
In comparison with the peasant of La Mancha 
and Castile, his fellow who dwells on the river 
bank or the sea-side, in the northern mountain 
vales or upon the southern undulations, is a 
merry-Andrew, his guitar slung to his back with 
blue ribbons, his cap ringing with bells, and his 
hands full of castanets. On these bald table- 
lands life is a constant struggle for daily bread, 
if not a hard one. Here the Spaniard can not 
throw himself heedlessly upon the bosom of Na- 
ture for sustenance, but must wrestle with her as 



342 COSAS DE espaNa. 

Jacob with the angel. Instead of living upon 
the natural elements of air, earth, and water, like 
the Andalusian, he has to rely mainly upon his 
stew-pans. He must indeed eat pucheros, for 
there is no bread-fruit in La Mancha. More 
bacon and fewer peas become indispensable. The 
peasant of these provinces, therefore, is a grosser 
feeder, and sets out his marriage feast with as 
many dishes as went to distend the jacket of 
Sancho Panza at the wedding of Camacho. But 
to bring anything more costly than greens to his 
pot, he must be diligent at his labors. He must 
put one foot before the other with less delibera- 
tion than is done on the banks of the Guadiana 
or the Guadalquiver. Without some little fore- 
thought even the chick-peas will fail. However, 
the Castilian mouth, is always full of proverbs, 
if not of garbanzos ; a certain vein of good 
humor is said to run through this steppean life ; 
there is no lack of dancing to clarionets, even 
though there be few guitars ; and a strong native 
wine reddens the lips of those who never taste 
Benicarlo and Manzanilla. 



DINING ON THE KOAD. 343 

But I am getting far ahead of the diligencia, 
whicli stopped at Siete Agnas for our first dinner. 
My expectations of the provend to be furnished 
on the road were very moderate, notwithstanding 
the pretty high price paid for it ; and the humble 
appearance of the hostlery at which we pulled 
up was not calculated to raise them. In quitting 
Valencia, I well knew that I was leaving behind 
its pilafs £ii\d pol/os con arroz, its turr ones and 
orchatas ; and deliberately made up my mind 
that I would eat my way through the country up 
to Madrid like a native, even thcugli I should be 
brought down to pulse and carob-pods. This 
confidence in the resources of the provinces was 
amply repaid. Tliroughout the journey, the 
tliree meals per diem came as certainly as the 
day itself. They sometimes fell at odd hours, 
and after delays which would have been vexa- 
tious to travellers over sharp-set. But when the 
board was finally spread, it never failed of having 
enough on it. We were always served with two 
soups in the course of the dinner, one fat and the 
other lean ; nor were there ever less than two 



344 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

stews. The breakfast contained un postre, one 
sweet ; the supper dos postres, two sweets ; and 
the dinner tres postres, three svyeets. The latter 
meal differed from the other mainly in the addi- 
tion of the olla. This made it the meal of honor. 
Chicken, bacon, sausage, peas, and other vegeta- 
bles, made up the substantial, the earthly ingre- 
dients ; while the heavenly and ambrosial were 
garlic, onions, saffron, and peppers red and 
green. Even served cold, this dish would burn 
up the mouth of a foreigner. But the Spanish 
throat being itself hotter than anything that can 
be put into it, suffers no damage. I remember 
that Sancho Panza, after eating his stew on board 
the " Barcino," told me it made him feel just com- 
fortably warm ; and I once met with a Castilian 
who assured me that the olla rather served to 
cool him off than otherwise. The first, and for a 
considerable time, the only dish of this kind I 
myself dipped into in Spain was found to contain 
at the bottom an enormous tin pepper-box. But 
the cook swore by all the saints it was not his. 
Whenever I passed the olla, my fellow-passengers 



' ROBBERS. 345 

stared with amazement at me, seeming to say l)y 
their looks, " Surely he will partake this time." 
Without any help of mine, however, I observed 
that they almost invariably saw the bottom of the 
pot. The bread, I will bear witness, was always 
good — imn de Dios. The chocolate was good. 
And the wine, though not to my taste, was sto- 
machic and invigorating. Of course, there were 
no evidences of any high state of the culinary art 
on the road ; but who that travels in the peni;i- 
sula expects to do anything more than keep body 
and soul together ? That could be effected, on a 
pinch, with even the garrofas^ beloved of asses, 
and arrieros. I can, therefore, recommend the 
road from Valencia to Madrid as safe for all trav- 
• ellers, who are not gastronomers. 

The danger from robbers is another affair — 
but with a roast, and a salad under a man's jacket, 
he must be a* poltroon indeed who can not face 
that. Only when there is no puchero to be had 
on the road, do Spanish hearts fail. One night, 
when we were kept longer than usual from our 

supper, in consequence of some injury to the car- 

15* 



346 CQSAS DE ESPANA. 

riage sustained in the defiles of the Contreras, I 
observed that the conversation turned rather seri- 
ously upon the possibility of our being stopped 
by highwaymen. But for my part, the regular 
bandit face of the tall fellows who composed our 
escort through those mountains gave me entire 
confidence in them. Their very mustaches looked 
daggers ; and there was not a doubt in my mind 
but what they were followers of the road by pro- 
fession, but who, for the time being, had sold them- 
selves to the government. Double the number 
of honest men, therefore, could not have made 
good their places. I would have insured the 
lives, watches, and purses, of our whole travel- 
ling party for the very inconsiderable sum which 
could probably have been got together by empty- 
ing the latter. 

However, the hour being late, the night dark, 
and the road bad, the conductor, some ten or 
twelve* miles before reaching our appointed rest- 
ing-place for the night, drew up his steeds before 
the meson of a road-side village, and declared 
that he would not go another step till morning, 



NIGHT IN A KHAN. 347 

SO help him Santa Barbara. Had not the con- 
ductor's mustache been in the way, I could have 
embraced him for that resolution ! For one, I 
was tired of getting my three meals a day with 
such regularity, and had slept the night before 
in a bed so clean and comfortable as to make me 
doubt that I was on the road to Madrid, or even 
in Spain. But this lying over for the night in a 
meson, had little more of the look of an adventure 
about it. I eagerly led the way, therefore, into 
this Iberian khan, and was received by the 
7)iesonero with a long succession of bows, night- 
cap in hand. 

" What now for supper, landlord ?" 
" Hai/ de todo. Everything is at the service 
of Vuestra Merced." 



" Give me then a roast chicken, and a — " 
" There is no roast chicken,. Seiior," interrupt- 
ed the inn-keeper, hanging his head by way of 
obeisance. 

'' Give me a rabbit — with his feet on — " 
*' No rabbit, Sefior." And the innkeeper let 
his chops fall as well os his head. 



348 COSAS DE ESP AN A. 

*'But you have a roast pig — a cut of cold 
beef — mutton cutlets — a partridge — pigeon 
pie?" 

The mesonero shook his head at each question. 
I then came to a full stop, thinking it better to 
give the poor man time to tell what he had got. 
Whereupon, he went on to.describe a large party 
which had dined in his house that day, and had 
eaten up eterything, even to his ham and eggs. 
To the inquiry whether any supplies were to be 
bought in the village, he replied by enumerating 
the hares and partridges and pigeons, which had 
been offered at the inn-door the day preceding, 
by peasants from a neighboring hamlet. By this 
time, I understood that his hay de todo meant 
simply that he had the means of cooking and 
serving whatever we might have brought in our 
wallets. He was to furnish the stew-pans ; we 
the stew. However, a foraging party was sent 
out, which after some difficulty succeeded in pur- 
chasing eggs sufficient to give every man an ome- 
lette. The mesonero brought out a pig-skin of 
wine. There were roasted potatoes to help out 



SLEEPING IN A HAYLOFT. 349 

the lack of bread. A sort of vegetable olla was 
got together for those who could not sleep except 
after onions and peppers. And, thus, after sonic 
little delay every guest supped like a king. Had 
there been a tamhoril or a dulzayna at hand, we 
should have ordered another pig-skin, and had a 
"roundabout." But some of the guests — and 
we were a full dozen — suggesting that the noise 
which we had already made would probably 
cost the conductor dear in the morrow's reck- 
oning — for guests are charged for " noise" in 
this part of the country — we squeezed our first 
skin once more, and wished each other buenas 
tardes. 

Like cena^ like cama. I had my choice of 
sleeping with the mules on the first floor, or with 
their sacks of fodder on the second. Of course, I 
went into the oats and barley. Now you are in 
Spain, said I to myself, as I made my bed be- 
tween two trusses. The newly-gathered grain 
was fragrant ; my head reclined at the angle of 
comfort ; and I closed my eyes, happy in having 
surrendered the only private room in the stabii- 



350 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

lum to the ladies, and envying no man in Chris- 
tendom his down or lavender. Sleep in a manger 
is sweet — provided always there be no braying. 
Luckily in these stalls no donkeys were kept, so 
that I slept like a beggar until daybreak. But 
with the dawn came forth the muleteers from 
their straw below stairs ; a chorus of mule- 
bells came tinkling up into the hayloft; some 
cursing on the part of their drivers helped 
out the din ; and sleep was straightway shaken 
out of all eyelids, by the calling horn of the con- 
ductor. 

With another day my journey drew to its close 
— terminating, I am sorry to say, without a sin- 
gle adventure the narration of which could aid in 
winning a Desdemona. I had been very civil to 
my voisine, who in turn was so much entertained 
by my descriptions of the life of young ladies in 
America that she even expressed a desire to visit 
that country. The youthful padre made but little 
progress in his St. Augustine ; and seemed to 
think there was more to be learned from a living 
woman than from any dead saint and doctor of 



ARRIVAL AT MADRID. 351 

divinity. The. silk merchant Avas very sleepy 
throughout tlie journey. On arriving at the gates 
of tlie capital, we opened them with the usual 
silver key ; and shortly afterward, something 
more than the usual fees relieved me from my 
obligations to the mayoral and all connected 
with the dilig-encia. Then came a formal but 
kindly leave-taking on the part of the herlina 
passengers, when each bade the other to " go 
with God." But for myself, I set off under the 
humbler, and less trustworthy protection of a 
hotel-commissioner, who finally ushered me with 
a certain degree of ceremony into what he pro- 
nounced to be the only respectable*/o^io?a in the 
city. As the clock struck twelve, I took posses- 
sion of one of its dog-holes ; and after having 
adjusted my portmanteau under my head to help 
out the deficiency of pillows, said to myself with 
a smile — Now, you are in the heaven of all " the 
Spains ;" you are in occupation of an apartment 
in one of its famous chateaux ; to-morrow you will 
go to court in a velvet coat, as great a wonder as a 
newlv arrived Arabian knio-ht ; voii will live on 



352 COSAS DE ESPANA. 

bull- easts ; you will daily captivate your princess 
on tlie Prado ; and then, at the expiration of thirty 
days — say forty — you will be off for Seville, and 
vales Andalusian. 



THE END 



THE NOCTES AMBROSIANyE; 

Wjth Portraits of ^YILso^•, Lockhart, jMaginn, Hogg, and fac-slmiles. 
EDITED, WITH MEMOIRS, NOTES, AND ILLUSTRATIONS, 

BY DR. SHELTON MACKENZIE, 

Editor of Shcil's " Sketches of thb Irish Bak." 
5 Vols., I'imo., cloth. Price ifo.OO. 

The Noctes were commenced in 18*22, and closed in IS'3.5. Even in England, the lanse 
Dl" years has obscured many circumstances which were well known thirty v^'ars a"-o. 

Dr. Shklton Mackenzie, already favorably known as editor of Shell's '•Sketches of 
the Irish Bar," has undertaken the editorship of TuE Noctes Ambkosiax.e, for which i. 
familiar acquaintance, during the last twenty-five years, with the persons, events, and 
places therein noticed may be assumed to qualify him. He has been on terms of intimacy 
with most of the eminent political and literary characters treated of in the '"Noctes " 
and his annotation of the text will include personal recollections of them. 

Besides this. Dr. Mackenzie has written for this edition a ''History of the Rise and Pro- 
gress of Blackwood's Magazine," with original memoirs of the principal accredited author? 
of the "Noctes," via :— Professor Wilson, The Ettriclc Shepherd, J. G. Lockhart, and 
Dr. Maginn. ^ 

He will also give the celebrated " Chaldee Manuscript," published in 1817, instantly 
suppressed, and so scarce that the only copy which the editor h-as ever seen is that frorn 
which he makes the present reprint. There will also be given the three articles, entitled 
"Christopher in the Tent," (in August and September, 1819), never before printed, in 
any shape, in this country. The interlocutors in " The Tent," include the greater number 
of those afterwards introduced in the " Noctes." 

The "Metricum Symphosium Ambrosianum," — an addendum to No. HI. of "The 
Noctes," (and which notices every living author of note, is the year 1822), will be in 
corporated in this edition. This has never before been reprinted here. 



Nearly Ready, in Two Volumes. 

THE ODOHERTY PAPERS, 

forming the first portion ok the miscellaneous writings of the late 

BR. MAGINN. 

WITH AN original MEMOIR AND COPIOUS NOTES, BT 

DR. SHEL"TON MACKENZIE. 



For more than a quarter of a century, the most remarkable magazine writer of his 
time, was the late William Maginn, LL.T)., well-known as the Sir Morgan Odoher»y of 
Blac/cu'oo'Vs Magazine, and as the principal contributor, for many years, to Fraaer'f. 
and other periodicals. The combined learning, wit, eloquence, eccentricity, and luin:oi 
of -Maginn. had obtained for him, long before his death, (in 1843), the title of The 
Modern Rabelais. His magazine articles possess extraordinary merit. He had the 
art of putting a vast quantity of animal spirits upon paper, but his graver articles — which 
contain sound and serious principles of criticism — are earnest and well-reasoned. 

The collection now in hand will contain his Facetiae (in a variety of languages). Trans- 
lations, Travesties, and Original Poetry, also his prose Tales, which are eminently beauti- 
fal , the best of his critical articles, (^including his celebrated Shakspeare Papers), and 
ills Homeric Ballads. The periodicals in which he wrote have been ransacked, from 
'' Blackwood" to "Punch."' and the result will be a .series of great interest. 

Dr. Shelton Mackekzie, who has undertaken the editorship of these writings of his 
distinguished countryman, will spare neither labor nor at:ention in the work. The 
first volume will contain an original Memoir of Dr. Maginn, written by Dr Mackenzie, 
*nd a characteristic Portrait, with fac-similQ. 

Published by 5. S. REDFIELD, 
110 (fr 112 Nassan-atreei, New York. 



Memoirs of a Distinguislied Financier. 

FIFTY YEARS 
IIST BOTH HEMIISPHEEES; 

OR, REMINISCENCES OF a' MERCHANT'S LIFE. 

By Vincent Nolte. 12mo. Price $1.25. [Eighth Edition] 

The following, being a few of the more prominent -names introduced in 
the work, will show the nature and extent of personal and anecdotal inter- 
est exhibited in its pages : — 

Aaron Burr; General Jackson; John Jacob Astor ; Stephen Girard; 
La Fayette ; Audubon ; the Barings ; Robert Fulton ; David Parish ; Sam- 
uel Swartwout ; Lord Aberdeen ; Peter K. Wagner ; Napoleon ; Paul 
Delaroche ; Sir Francis Chantry ; Queen Victoria ; Horace Vernet ; Major 
General Scott ; Mr. Saul ; Lafitte ; John Quincy Adams ; Edward Living- 
ston ; John R. Grymes ;.Auguste Davezac ; General Moreau ; Gouverneur 
Morris ; J. J. Ouvrard ; Messrs. Hope & Co. ; General Claiborne ; Marshal 
Soult ; Chateaubriand ; Le Roy de Chaumont ; Duke of Wellington ; Wil- 
liam M. Price ; P. C. Labouchere ; Ingres ; Charles VI., of Spain ; Mar- 
shal Blucher ; Nicholas Biddle ; Manuel Godoy ; Villele ; Lord Eldon ; 
Emperor Alexander, etc. etc. 

" He seldom looks at the bright side of a character, and dearly loves— he 
confesses it — a bit of scandal. But he paints well, describes well, seizes 
characteristics which make clear to the reader the nature of the man whom 
they illustrate." 

The memoirs of a man of a singularly adventurous and speculative turn, who entered 
upon the occupations of manhood early, and retained its energies late ; has been an eye- 
witness of not a few of the important events that occurred in Europe and America be- 
tween the years 1796 and 1850, and himself a sharer in more than one of them ; v/ho has 
been associated, or an agent in some of the largest com.mercial and financial operations 
that British and Dutch capital and enterprise ever ventured upon, and has been brought 
into contact and acquaintance — not unfrequently into intimacy — with a number of the 
r.'markable men of his tirrie. Seldom, either in print or in the flesh, have we fallen in 
with so restless, versatile and excursive a genius as Vincent Nolte, Esq., of Europe and 
America — no more limited address will sufiiciently express his cosmopolitan domicile. — 
Blackwood''s Magazine. 

As a reflection of real life, a book stamped with a strong personal character, and filled 
with unique details of a large experience of private and public interest, we unhesita- 
tingly call attention to it as one of the most note-worthy productions of the day. — J\l'eic 
York Churchman. 

Our old merchants and politicians will find it very amusing, and it will excite vivid 
reminiscences of men and things forty years ago. We might criticise the hap- hazard 
and dare-devil spirit of the author, but the raciness of his anecdotes is the result of these 
very defects. — Boston Transcript. 

His autobiography presents a spicy variety of incident and adventure, and a great deal 
of really useful and interesting information, all the more acceptable for the profusion of 
anecdote and piquant scandal with which it is interspersed. — JV. Y. Jour, of Commerce. 

Not the least interesting portion of the work, to us here, is the narration of Nolte's 
intercourse with our great men, and his piquant and occasionally ill-natured notice of 
their faults and foibles. — JV. Y. Herald. 

It is a vivid chronicle of varied and remarkable experiences, and will seirve to rectify 
the errors which too often pass among men as veritable history. — Evenivn- Post. 

The anecdotes, declamations, sentiments, descriptions, a,nd whole tone of the book, 
are vivacious and genuine, -and, making allowance for obvious prejudices, graphic and 
reliable. To the old it will be wonderfully suggestive, to the young curiously inform- 
ing, and to both rich in entertainment. — Boston Mlas. 

As an amusing narrative, it would be difficult to find its superior ; but the book has 
peculiar interest from the freedom with which the author shows up our American noto- 
rieties of I he pa.st forty years — Courier 



RKDFIK.LD'S NEW AND POPULAR PUBLICATIC \S. 

SIMMS' REVOLUTIONARY TALES. 

UNIFORM SERIES. 

New and entirely Revised Edition of William Gilmore Sim»18' 
Ronnances of the Revo ution, with Illustrations by Uarllv. 
Each complete \\\ one vol., l'2mo, cloth ; price $1.25. 

I. THE PARTISAN. III. KATHARINE WALTON. (I<> pre«) 

II. MELLICHAMPE. IV. THE SCOUT. (In pres.s) 

V. WOODCRAFT. (In pres^.) 

"The field of Rovolutionaiy Romance was a rich one, and Mr. Simms has workfu^ il 
admirably." — LonhtUlc Journal. 

"But ftnv novelists of tiie age evinci"^ more power in the conception of a story, nin>e 
artistic skill in its management, or more nalarnlnesa in the final denouement than Air 
Simms." — Mobile Daily Advertiser. 

" Not only par excellence ihc literary man of tlie South, but next to no romance writer 
in America." — Albany Kvickerbocker. 

"Simms is a popular writer, and his romances are highly creditable to Aroeiican 
literature." — Boston Olive Branch. 

"These books are ri'))lete with daring and thrilling ads'entures, principally drawn 
from histoiy." — Boston Christian Freeman. 

" We take pleasure in noticing another of the series which Redfield is presenting to 
the country of the brilliant productions of one of the very ablest of our American 
nuthnrs — of one indeed who, in his peculiar sphere, is inimitable. This volume is a 
continuation of 'The Partisan.' " — Philadelphia American Courier. 

ALSO UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE 

THE YEMASSEE, 

A Romance nf South Carolina. By Wm. Gilmore Simms. New 
and entirely Revised Edition, with Illustrations by Darley. l2mo, 
cloth ; price $1.25. 

'In interest, it is second to but few romances in the language; in power, it holds a 
hiuh rank; in healthlulness of style, it furnishes an example worthy of emul.^tiou."— 
Gi eene County IVliig. 



*k 



SIMMS' POETICAL WORKS. 

Poems : Descriptive, Dramatic, Legendary, and Contemj.laVive. 

By Wm. Gilmore Simms. With a portrait on steel. 2 vols., 

12mo, cloth; price $2.50. 

Contents : Norman Maurice ; a Tragedy. — Atalantis ; a Tale of the Sea. — Tales and 
Traditions of the South.— The City of the Silent— Southern Passages and Pictures.— 
Historical and Dramatic Sketches. — Scripture Legends. — Francesca da Rimini, etc. 

"We are glad to see the poems of our best Southern author collected in twc hand 
some volumes. Here we have etnbalmed in graphic and melodious verse the scenic 
wonders and charms of the South ; and this feature of the work alone gives it a per- 
manent and special value. None can read ' Southern Passages and Pictures' without 
feeling that therein the poetic aspects, association, and sentiment of Southern life and 
Bcenery are vitally enshrined. 'Norman iMaurice' is a dramatic poem of peculiar 6C(.p«? 
and unusual interest; and 'Atalantis,' a poem upon which some of the author's fine.-l 
powers of thought and expression are richly lavished. None i)f our poets offer so great 
H variety of style or a more original choice of subjects." — Boston Traveller. 

" His versification is tluent and mellifluous, yet not lacking in point of vigor when an 
eneriretic style is requisite to the subject."— lY. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

"Mr. Simms ranks among the first poets of our country, and t!ie-e well-printed 
W);an»es conteiin poetical productions of rare merit." — IVaskington (V. C.) Star. 



KEDMELDS N F,W AND POPUF.AIJ I'lJ RLTC ATIOxNS 

MOORE'S LIFE OF SHERIDAN. 

feJemoirs of the Life of the Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley .Shc.id&n 
by Thomas Moore, wirh Portrait after Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
Two vols., 12rao, cloth, $2.00. 

" One of the most brilliant biographies in English literature. It is the life of a -n \i 
written by a wit, and few of Tom Moore's most sparkling poems are more brilliant ai.d 
""ascinatina; than this biography." — Boston Transcript. 

" This is at once a most valuable biography of the most celebrated wit of the times. 
nJ one of the most entertaining works of its gifted author." — Springfield Rtpnblican. 

" The Life of Sh.°ridan, the wit, contains as much food for serious thought as the 
best sermon that was ever penned." — Arthur's Home Gazette. 

" The sketch of such a character and career as Sheridan's by sue "land as Moore's, 
ean never cease to be attractive." — N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 

" The work is instructive and full of interest." — Chri<itia?t Intelligencer. 

" It is a gem of biography ; full of incident, elegantly written, warmly appreciative, 
snd on the whole candid and just. Sheridan was a rare and wonderlul genius, and has 
in this work justice done to his surpassing merits."— iV. Y. Evangelist. 




BARRINGTON'S SKETCHES. 

Personal Sketches of his own Time, by Sir Jonah Baeringtow, 

Judge tf the High Court of Admiralty in Ireland, with Illustra- 
tions by Darley. Third Edition, 12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

" A more entertaining book than this ^' not often thrown in our way. His sketches 
of character are inimitable ; and many of the prominent men of his time are hit o!i is 
the most striking and graceful outline." — Albaiiy Argus. 

" He was a very shrewd observer and eccentric writer, and his narrative of his owo 
life, and sketches of society in Ireland during his times, are exceedingly humorous and 
Interesting." — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

•' It is one of those works which are conceived and written in so hearty a view, and 
brings before the reader so many palpable and amusing characters, that the entertain 
ment and information are equally balanced."— Boston Transcript. 

" This is one of the most entertaining books of the season." — N. Y. Recorder. 

" It portrays in life-like colors the characters and daily habits of nearly all the Enj; 
lish and Irish celebrities of that period."— iV. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 



JOMlNrS CAMPAIGN OF WATERLOO. 

The Political and Military History of the Campaign of Waterloo 
from the Frencl of Gen. Baron Jomini, by Lieut. S V. Bknet 
U. S. Ordnanrt, with a Map, 12mo, cloth, 75 cents. 

" Of great value, both for its historical merit and its acknowledged impartiality."-- 
Christiayi Freeman, Boston. 

" It has long been regarded in Europe as a work of more than ordinary mei'it, wfiMf 
to military men his review of the tactics and manoeuvres of the French Emperor dur 
ing the few days which preceded his final and most disastrous defeat, is considei'ed tui 
instructive, as it is interesting."— .4nA?<rs Home Gazette. 

" It is a standard authority and illustrates a subject of permanent interest. Witfe 
military students, and historical inquirers, it will be a favorite reference, and foi .-i« 
general reader it possesses great value and interest." — Boston Transcript. 

" It throws much light on often mooted points respecting Napoleon's military .ud 
political genius. The translation is one of much vigor." — Boston CommonweaUk. 

'•It supplies an important chapter in the most interesting and eventful period o' •*• 
puJeon's military career." — Savannah Daily News. 

'It is ably written and skili'ully translated." — Yankfc Blade. 



RKHKIKLUS NF.W AND I'OI'liLAK I' T HI. .' A i 1(»N:<. 



SKETCHES OF THE IRISH BAR. 

By tlie Rifi;ht Hon. Richard Lalor Shkil, M. P. P^^dited vvitti 
a Memoir and Notes, by Dr. Siieltoiv Mackenzie. Fourth 
Edition. In 2 vols. Price $2 00. 

"They attrnctrd universal attention hy their brilliant nnd pninteil style, and tlioiv lib 

erality of sentiment. The Notes embody a gn.-at amount of hioi,'riiphical information, 

terary gossip, legal and political anecdote, and amusing reminiscences, nnd, in fact, 

omit iiothiiii,' that is essential to the perfect elucidation of the ti'xt."— i\^eM York Tribune. 

"They are the best edited books we have met for many a year. Tiicy lorm, with 
Mackenzie's notes, a complete hioirraphical dictionary, containing succinct anil clever 
sketches of all the famous people of England, and particularly of Ireiand, to whom tho 
slightest allusions are made in the text^." — The Citizen (John Mitchel). 

"Dr. Mackenzie deserves the thanks of men of letters, particularly of Iri.-hmen, for 
his research nnd care. Altogether, the work is one we can recommend in the highest 
terms." — Philadelphia City Item. 

"Such a repertory of wit, humor, anecdote, and out-gushing fun, mingled with the 
deepest pathos, when we reflect upon the sad fate of Ireland, as this book att'ords, it were 
hard to find written in any other pair of covers." — Buffalo Daily Courier. 

"As a whole, a more sparkling lively series of portraits was hardly ever set in a single 
gallery It is Irish all over; the wit, the folly, the extravagance, and the fire are al 
alike characteristic of writer and subjects." — New York Ecangelist. 

" These volumes atford a rich treat to the lovers of literature." — Hartford Christian 6« 



J^ 



CLASSIC AND HISTORIC PORTRAITS. 
By James Bruce. 12mo, cloth, Si 00. 

" A series of persona] sketches of distinguished individuals' of all ages, embracing pen 
nnd ink portraits of near sixty persons from Sappho down to iMadame de Stael. They 
>liow much research, and possess that interest vvhicli attaches to the private life of those 
whose names are known to fame." — New Haven Journal and Courier. 

"They are comprehensive, well-written, and judicious, both in the selection of sub- 
jects and the manner of treating them." — Boston Atlas. 

" The author has painted in minute touches the characteristics of each with varioua 
personal details, all interesting, and all calculated to furnish to the mind's eye a complete 
portraiture of the individual described." — Albany Knickerbocker. 

" 'J'he sketches are full and graphic, many authorities having evidently been consulted 
by the author in tlieir preparation." — Boston Journal. ~ 



ir^%^ 



THE WORKINGMAN'S WAY IN THE WORLD. 

Being the Autobiography of a Journeyman Printer. By Charles 
Manby Smith, author of "Curiosities of London Life." 12mo, 
cloth, Si 00. 

"Written by a man of genius and of most extraordinaiy powers of description. "- 
Boston Traveller. 

" It will be read with no small degree of interest by the professional brethren of the 
suthor, as well as by all who find attractions in a well-told tale of a workingman."— 
Boston Atlas. 

"An amusing as "well as instructive book, telling how humble obscurity cuts its way 
through the world with energy, perseverance, and integrity." — Albany Knickerbocker. 

" The book is the most entertaining we have met with for months." — Philadelphia 
Evening Bulletin. 

■' He has evidently moved through the world with his eyep njy^r nnd having a vein 
of humor in his nature, has written one of the most readable uooKs ol the seaooD * 
Zio'ts Herald. 



nKDilKLDS NEW AND POPUIAR PUBLIC ATIOx\S. 

NOTES AND EMENDATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE. 

Notes and Emendations to the Text of Shakespeare's Plays, from 
the Early Manuscript Corrections in a copy of the folio of 1632, 
in the possession of John Payne Collier, Esq., F.S.A. Third 
edition with a fac-simile of the Manuscript Corrections. 1 vol., 
12mo, cloth, $1.50. 

" It is not for a moment to be doubted, we think, that in this vohTme a contribution 
has been made to the clearness and accuracy of Shakespeare's text, by far the most im- 
portant of any offered or attempted since Shakespeare lived and wrote." — Lond. Exam. 

"The corrections which JMr. Collier has here given to the world are, we venture to 
think, of more value than the labors of nearly all the critics on Shakespeare's text put 
together." — London Literary Gazette. 

" It is a rare gem in the history of literature, and can not fail to command the atten- 
tion of all the amateurs of the writings of the immortal dramatic poet." — CKston Cour. 

'• It is a bock absolutely indispensable to every admirer of Shakespeare who wishes 
to read him understandingly." — Lotdsville Courier. 

"It is clear from internal evidence, that for the most part they are genuine i-estora- 
fions of the original plays. They carry conviction with them." — Home Journal. 

"This volume is an almost indispensable companion to any of the editions of 
Shakespeare, so numerous and often important are many of the corrections." — Register, 
Philadelphia. 



THE HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 

By Joseph Francois Michaud. Translated by W. Robson, 3 vols. 
12mo., maps, $3 75. 

"It is comprehensive and accurate in the- detail of facts, methodical and lucid in ar- 
rangement, with a lively and flowing narrative." — .Journal of Commerce. 

" We need not say that the work of Michaud has superseded all other histories 
of the Crusades. This history has long been the standard work with all who could 
read it in its original language. Another work on the same subject is as improbable 
as a new history of the 'Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.' " — Salem Freeman. 

" The most faithful and masterly history ever written of the wild wars for the Holy 
Land." — Philadelphia American^ Courier. 

" The ability, diligence, and faithfulness, with which Michaud has executed his 
great task, are undisputed ; and it is to his well-filled volumes that the hiatorica) stu- 
dent must now resort for copious and authentic facts, and luminous views respecting 
this most romantic and wonderful period in the annals of the Old World." — Boston 
Daily Courier. 




MARMADUKE WYVIL. 

An Historical Romance of 3 651, by Hei^ry W. Herbert, authoi 

of the " Cavaliers of England," (fee, &c. Fourteenth Edition. 
Revised and Corrected. 

" This is one of the best works of the kind we have ever read— full of thrilling inci- 
dents and adventures in the stirring times of Cromwell, and in that style which has 
made the works of Mr. Herbert so popular."— C%r2s<ifl« Freeman, Boston. 

" The work is distinguished by the same historical knowledge, thrilling incident, and 
pi'jtorial beauty of style, which havi characterized all Mr. Herbert's fictions and imparted 
to thorn such a bewitching: interest." — Yankee Blade. 

•' The author out of a simple plot and very few characters, has constructed a novel 
cf deep interest and of considerable historical value. It will be found well worth 
Heading:" — National /^^g is, Worcester. 



KEDFIKLDS NEW A\U POPULAR PUBLICATIONS. 

MACAULATS SPEECHES. 

Speeches by the Ricrlit Hon. T. B. Macaulat, M. P., Author of 
" The History of England," " Lays of Ancient Kome," &c., &c 
Two vols., 12mo, price $2.00. 

" It is hard to say whether his poetry, his speeches in parh'amcnt, or his brilliant 
essays, are the most channingf ; each has raised him to very great eminence, and woula 
besuflBciont to constitute the reputation of any ordiaiary maji." — Sir Archibald Alison 

" It may be Siud that Great Britain has produced no statesman since Burke, who hbS 
united in so eminent a degree as Macaulay thelotty and cultivated genius, the eloquent 
orate r, and the sagacious and lar-reaching politician." — Albany Argus. 

" We do not know of any living English orator, whose eloquence comes so near tho 
ancient ideal — close, rapid, powerful, practical reasoning, animated by an intense earn 
estness of feeling." — Courier if Enquirer. 

" Mr. Macaulay has lately acquired as great a reputation as an orator, as he had for- 
merly won as an essayist and historian. He takes in his speeches the same wide and 
comprehensive grasp of his subject that he does in his essays, and treats it in the samo 
elegant style." — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 

" The same elaborate finish, sparkling antithesis, full sweep and copious flow of 
thought, and transpai'ency of style, which made his essays so attractive, are found in 
his speeches. They are so perspicuous, so brilliantly studded with ornament and illus- 
tration, and so resistless in their current, that they appear at the time to be the wisest 
and greatest of human compositions." — NewYork Evangelist. 



M.' 



TRENCH ON PROVERBS. 

On the Lessons in Proverbs, by Richard Chenkvix Trench, B. D., 

I^rofessor of Divinity in King's College, London, Author of the 
*' Study of Words." 12mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

" Another charming book by the author of Oie " Study of Words." on a subject which 
Is so ingeniously treated, that we wonder no one has treated it before." — Yankee Blade. 

*' It is a book at once profoundly instructive, and at the same time deprived of ali 
approach to dryness, by the channing manner in which the subject is treatec*." — Ar- 
thur's Home Gazette. 

" It is a wide field, and one which the author has well cultivated, adding not onl}' to 
bis own reputation, but a valuable work to our literature." — Albany Evening Trcnsrrijjl. 

" The work shows an acute perception, a genial appreciation of wit, and great re- 
search. It is a very rare and agreeable production, which may be read with p ofit and 
delight." — New York Evangelist. 

"The stj-le of the author is terse and vigorous — almost a model in its kind '—Port 
(and Eclectic. 



^ 



THE LION SKIN 
And the Lover Hunt; by Charles de Bernard. 12mo, $1.00. 

" It is not often the novel-reader can find on his bookseller's shelf a publication so hill 
of incidents and good humor, ami at the same time so provocative of honest thought" 
- -National (Worcester, Mass.) yEgis. 

" it is full of incidents ; and the reader becomes so interested in the principal p<M-.«on. 
ages in the work, that he is unwilling to lay the book down until he has learned tiieu 
whole history." — Boston Olive Branch. 

" It is refreshing to meet occasionally with a well-published story which is wriiiiM foi 
a story, and for nothing cloe — which is isot tipped with the snapjier of a tn'.ini, o» 
hiad'jd in the handle with a pound of philanthropy, or an equal quantity of leaden phi 
loeoiiby." — Springfield RepvbUcan. 



REDFIELUS NEW A.ND POPUl i^.R PUBLICATIONS 



CLOVERNOOK; 



Or, Recollections of our Neighborhood in the West. By Alicr 
Carky. Illustrated by Darley. One vol., 12mo., price $1,00. 
(Fourth edition.) 

" In this volume there is a freshness which perpetually charms the reader. Yoa 8«em 
t j be made free of western homes at once." — Old Colony Memorial. 

" Thpy bear the true stamp of genius— simple, natural, truthful— and evince a kscE 
p(^nse of the humor and pathos, of the comedy and tragedy, of life in the country."— J 
fcr Whittier. 




DREAM-LAND BY DAY-LIGHT: 

A Panorama of Romance. By Caroline Chesebro'. Illustrated 
by Darley. One vol., 12mo., price $1.25. (Second edition.) 

" These simple and beautiful stories are all highly endued with an exquisite percep- 
tion of natural beauty, with which is combined an appreciative sense of its relation to 
the highest moral emotions." — Albany State Register. 

" Gladly do we greet this floweret in the field of our literature, for it is fragrant with 
sweet and bright with hues that mark it to be of Heaven's own planting." — Courier and 
Enquirer. 

" There is a depth of sentiment and feeling not ordinarily met with, and some of the 
noblest faculties and aftections of man's nature are depicted and illustrated by the sftU- 
ful pen of the authoress." — Churchman. 



LAYS OF THE SCOTTISH CAVALIERS. 

By William E. Aytoun, Professor of Literature and Belles-Let 
tres in the University of Edinburgh and Editor of Blackwood's 
Magazine. One vol., 12mo. cloth, price $1.00. 

" Since Lockhart and Macaulay's ballads, we have had no metrical work to be com- 
pared in spirit, vigor, and rhythm with this. These ballads isnbcdy and embalm the 
chief historical incidents of Scottish history — literally in 'thoughts that breathe and 
words that burn.' They are full of lyric energy, graphic description, and genuine feei 
tng." — Home Journal. 

" The fine ballad of ' Montrose' in this collection is alone worth the price of the book-' 
Boston Transcript. 



THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 
By Bon Gaultier. One volume, 12mo., cloth, price 75 cents. 

■' Here is a book for everybody who loves classic fun. It is made up of ballads of 
U oorts, each a capital parody upon the style of some one of the best lyric writers of 
lluj time, from the thundering versification of Lockhart and Macaulay to the sweetes? 
and simplest strains of Wordsworth and Tennyson. The author is one of the {irsi 
scholars, and one of the most finished writers of the day, and this production is but the 
frolic of his genius in play-time" — Courier and Enquirer. 

" We do not know to whom belongs this 7iom, de plume, but he is certainly a humorUl 
of no commcn powrr." — Providence Journal. 



mw- 



4 



i-h. 







♦ ■• k 


■5 


, \ » , 




*% ► ■ 


• V < 


! ■ ' ■> 


t <. 


# "* • < 


•lA. 


; * ■ J 


L'V'i 






' * ^ • J 




'--♦ ♦ 4 


* *- '■ 


' *k A <• . 




"tV 


4 ' i 


* « * . 




t ; k -^ 


\\* 












:.;^:::*:> 

>',• ^•x)' 



^S!5^v'>* 







/>.?^: 

'.♦.", V *: 



